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Chapter 5 - Template 5

A couple of hours passed, and I finished the first book. No sign of the Bat. Doesn't mean a lot, he could by checking out my known hangouts, be doing some surveillance before coming in, or doing something else entirely.

I check the window. No Bat-signal in the sky, but being as I'm on the North end, facing away from most of the island... Yeah, I just don't know if you can normally see the signal from here or not. I can, however, see the twinkle of lights from Bludhaven and the mainland. Never really thought about it before, but you can almost trace a straight line up from Metropolis, through Gotham, to Bludhaven. Good to bad to worse. Except, the nicest parts of Gotham are actually the closest to Bludhaven while the Metro-Narrows Bridge to Metropolis connects to Chinatown.

And now that I think about it, isn't weird that all the seedy dock areas are on the East End, as in, facing towards mainland Jersey and the Bay, away from the Atlantic? Maybe the island provides shelter? But there's still this marina to the North.

At some point, I really need to pick up a book on Gotham's history. I've been living here almost twenty years, and there's still the strangest holes in my knowledge of how things work here. Not so much the people, but the infrastructure.

I finish my glass and refill it with mostly ice. After a moment, I get another glass for Batman, just to show that he was expected and set the tone of a friendly meeting between equals rather than a butt-kicking waiting to happen.

Still no Batman. He better not be at my apartment, rifling through my things.

I start on another book.

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The hour is late indeed when a voice disturbs me from my reading.

"Until this moment, I failed to understand or appreciate the extent of your organization."

Ah, the curtain raises and our show begins.

I get up slowly and straighten my clothes, the better to not show surprise or discomfort to the enemy, and turn to face the detective. All while ignoring the strident voice in my head calling- Nonononobadbadbad- and smiled.

"I am quite sure that a man of your intelligence will see that there can be but one outcome to this affair. You have worked things in such a fashion that we have only one recourse left. It has been an intellectual treat to me, sir, to see the way in which you have grappled with this business, and I say unaffectedly, it would be a grief to me to be forced to take any extreme measures." And it would, without a doubt, pain me to be deprived of my nemesis, my nearest equal, the one man who might yet understand me in full. Still, if he would insist on becoming such an obstacle, I could see no alternative but a hollow victory for me in his cessation.

But as my own network had been turned from an irreplaceable asset to a burden, so must he shun all company of men, save perhaps that of his fellow the doctor- Dammit, listen to me, James! The man in front of you is NOT Sherlock Holmes, do you understand? Not Holmes! He's Batman, and he is far more violent and if you keep this up he'll trounce us both and send us back to Arkham!

Away, bothersome noise! What place have you in the mind committed to logic, mathematics and the sciences? Much less here and now, at the conclusion of the greatest intellectual duel of our era.

Not Sherlock Holmes indeed! As though I would not know that face, that famed deerstalker cap... Wait. When did Sherlock ever wear that ridiculous thing in city-limits? Why would he, when he is normally no more than averagely oblivious to fashion? Something is strange here, but I cannot pursue it at this time. It concerns Holmes only peripherally, and I shall not distract myself while sparring in words with him. Still a corner of my mind cannot help but analyze and question, just when did Holmes get a ridiculous spiked hood?

"Yet, if by doing so I could limit your capacity to do harm... How brazen of you, to seek office while running your criminal enterprises, to so remove yourself from the dock. Yet, I can see enough to know there are further layers here. Indulge, if you may, my curiosity?"

That wasn't anything I expected the detective to say. I paused to ruminate on my answer- be silent, little voice!- and in my hesitation my hand, as if by it's own accord, shot out and plunged itself in a glass of ice cold water. Confound the lack of control! What would Holmes think...

Oh, thank the Presence that worked. I'm back. And apparently in some trouble.

That's alright, assess the situation.

I'm alone in a room with Batman. Check. Haven't started a fight or aggravated him into beating me up. Very grateful check. But I have given him every reason to believe my 'delusion' of also being James Moriarty persists, and that I probably still belong in the nuthouse. Very bad check.

I pull my hand out of the glass. Seeing as the silence has already gotten long enough to be awkward, I'm going to take a long moment to think my way out of this one.

While James Moriarty is many things, a criminal genius, professor of mathematics and also astronomy, and an adroit conversationalist, one thing he's not is a real boy. He's a literary character, a bundle of traits and dialogue that can convincingly stand in for the real deal, most days. But he can still be tightly bound to the books he came from and the beliefs people have about him, and in some ways it makes him incredibly inflexible. It took me years, longer than our original prison sentence, to get him to accept even provisionally the existence of magic and the reality of our existence.

Long story short, if someone quotes Doyle or Newman at him, James tends to take over and follow the script as long as they do. If you open with a quote and can still more-or-less keep Sherlock's voice, James will continue to think of you and treat you as he would Sherlock Holmes. Much the same for any of the other fictional characters that have rattled around inside my head over the years. Definitely the cause of most, well, at least half, my defeats. But hey, I'm pretty sure I'm at least partially responsible for the high literacy rate among teen-aged vigilantes in Gotham. Go me!

Well, okay, the wealthy mentor with high standards probably has something to do with it too.

Speaking of, the big guy is still waiting. It's an old interrogation trick, letting the silence build until people talk, and it usually works pretty well. In this case, though, I'm just grateful for the chance to marshal my thoughts. I have no idea what I'd say if he pushed me right now. Then, the Bat's instincts have often been just a bit off-kilter regarding little old me.

But I suppose you're curious what he looks like? You probably know the basics, big scalloped cape, cowl with two big ears, white eye lenses, dark grey outfit with black gloves with some kind of fins and boots. Got a yellow ring around the bat-symbol on his chest, not that much like any movie version I know of. Faded yellow utility belt. Really athletic, got a sense of presence that lets him really pull off a look that would just be silly on almost anyone else. He's got about six inches on me, but I swear the ears and the cape somehow make him look even taller.

One time at a charity event, not the goat lettuce one, policeman's ball, I tried this drug, ThreeEye, from the first Dresden Files book. It gives a person temporarily the Sight, a powerful true sight with some metaphor and fixes what you see in your memory forever, just don't ask what it's made from. I wanted to get a good gander at the rich and powerful of Gotham, as well as it's most important officers, because that information could only be helpful in finding leverage. Well, it turns out that the true self of Bruce Wayne, is Batman. A little taller and darker, with his cape turning into wisps of shadow, but distinctly and definitely him. I'm sure a psychologist would make a lot of that, me, I already knew he was Batman and moved on, to the extent that I can when I literally cannot forget the sight of him there.

Another night, a few years into my career, Batman and I had shared a rooftop as he tried his particular mix of therapy and "scared straight." Trying to understand and help me. In a moment of embarrassing vulnerability, I told him almost everything about who I was and where I came from. He didn't believe me, and I do believe his passing on that I thought the world was a fictional story added about three months to my average Arkham stay.

Gonna admit, that one hurt. A lot.

In hindsight, I can see why he'd think that, though. Pretty much none of my dire predictions have come true, except one or two things that had already happened. I may have done a little stereotyped villainous ranting when James took over to prevent my spilling that I knew his identity. Plus, he deals with crazy people all of the time. The book-themed guy, who thinks he's a literary character sometimes, and sometimes multiple ones, tells him all the world and his life is a fictional story, right after threatening the city with a giant death ray? That's gotta be this guy's idea of a Thursday evening, and I admit, I didn't present things well.

Yes, I spent quite a while brooding about this in my cell, but I'm done now. Totally not bitter in the least, I swear.

However, none of this trip down memory lane is helping me talk my way out of trouble.

....

I've got nothing. And James is still sulking and way too likely to go off the rails to let him handle this. Guess I'm improvising.

I hate improvising.

"Hello, Batman. Long time, no see. How have you been?"

Blank look. It's surprisingly disconcerting to have a conversation with someone when you can only see their mouth.

"What precisely do you think you're doing?" His voice is fairly deep and always sounds the tiniest bit like he's growling. But nowhere near the chain-smoking movie voice.

"Umm... immediately, in general, or existentially?" He isn't looking impressed. I get the feeling I've grown too dependent on James for dissembling. "In order, having a drink and a bit of a read before bed, running for public office, and I have no idea."

"You know what I mean."

"... I suppose I do at that." I settled back into my chair. Absently, I waved to indicate the other easy chair was available, but of course he didn't sit. "I don't know what to say. There's no particular scheme or angle here. I want to make a real difference in the community, legally, if I can. The rules of my parole don't say I can't run for office, the rules of the city don't set any preconditions for running. There are states where an ex-con can't vote, but Jersey isn't one of them, so I don't really see a problem here?"

"The problem is a man with a history of using mind control gaining a position by popular support. The problem is a petty crime lord controlling a city. The problem is you. Your intentions, and your stability."

"I'm fine." I wish I could say that the Batglare doesn't effect me anymore but- you know what? Wouldn't be my first time lying to me or you. The Batglare doesn't effect me anymore, repeated exposure has left me immune.

"... I'm mostly fine. Really, I'm sick and tired of banging my head against the wall, trying to make real change in this city and getting my teeth kicked in because I broke almost as many laws as the people in charge. So I'm going to try and change things... your way. With less headcracking. Okay, that one didn't quite work out." I'm... pretty sure he's not going to beat me up until he catches me breaking the law, but Bruce could still hurt me a lot if he digs in against me. It's a little scary how much, even with dozens of other major companies, this is a Wayne Enterprises town. WE or it's subsidiaries are involved in steel, shipping, consumer electronics, medical research, nuclear power, oil, fertilizers, pharmaceuticals, a small film studio and more. They have a very active and competitive aerospace division, though I can attest from personal experience that the LexAir Lex-Wing can fly rings around the Batplane.

Heck, Bruce owns a major shipyard down South and is building one of the new Van Buren-class aircraft carriers for the US Navy. I'm just waiting for the day that boat disappears and resurfaces three months later with a Batman logo painted on it.

Point being, the guy has some serious clout. I need to convince him I'm on the level.

"Look, you're not going to bust me up and bring me in until I actually do something wrong, and you know that I know that. I swear, I'm not trying to take advantage of your good nature, but I understand where you'd be skeptical. So why not make it official? If I fall off the wagon, if I make the cut and then use the office for petty personal gain, if I go nuts, you have my permission to take me down. I really do want to make this work." Come on, fake sincerity! If you roll the dice enough times, you have to eventually get a twenty, right?

Batman doesn't cock his head or purse his lips. Even with the face-concealing cowl, he hides his emotions when working. I'd feel so much better if I had an idea whether the pitch was working. After a moment that probably feels a lot longer than it really was, he answers.

"And Capricorn?"

Shit. Shit.

"What about him?"

"You said that you and he are separate, that you aren't responsible for his actions or vice versa. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, then. But seizing political power? That's exactly what he would do in your position. Either you aren't so different as you want me to think, or you have another plan in mind." Rats, he's onto me. Deflect! Really missing James' gift for wordplay right now!

"I can't live my entire life in fear of the specter of turning out like Capricorn. I have a straightforward goal, that I'm going after with non-psychotic means."

"Hn." I feel like that one didn't work.

I- I should probably explain right now for those of you feeling lost. Capricorn is, well, basically he's my evil clone, the truth is a lot more complicated but... that'll do for a working definition. It's short, to the point and conveys the most important information up front.

Cast your mind back about eight or nine years. I was all on top of my game, not the biggest fish in the Gotham pool by any means, but that just meant there was always a bigger priority for Brucie here. The Justice League had recently formed, and Wonder Woman had even told me I had the mind of a philosopher and the heart of a warrior, she always did like me better than Bruce or Clark, probably because she doesn't know me that well. Anyways, the world was coming together, making sense and I was finally feeling comfortable with my place in it, enough to settle down and really start pushing the limits of my magic gig. I'd always been studying and researching and seeing what happen when this unstoppable blade met that impenetrable armor, of course, but this was the point where I started giving out superpowers and trying ever more out there things.

Well, you know, there just aren't enough hours in the day, and time-turners are such a hassle. So I took my trusty gismo and made another me.

Yes, I checked him out. He was fine, save for the absence of a James. At the time I didn't think anything of it, sometimes magic interacts in weird ways. Looking back, of course, I wondered if that wasn't the problem. And then had to laugh at the idea of James Moriarty being someone's conscience. No, I don't think it was that. John-2 did seem a bit more sensitive to magic, something we figured was because he was literally made from the stuff, but that just made him better at research and experimentation.

There weren't any particular warning signs, no fights or problems. For three, almost four months we were just fine, if anything he was concerned for me. Worried I was pushing too hard, thinking I was too quick to gamble my sanity. Then one day he didn't come home, and a little homegrown scrying, not easy with our particular brand of magic, showed that he'd sacrificed a dozen children to Neron, and was working on his thirteenth. Little robin redbreast, not the funny one or the new one, the bratty one.

Needless to say, Jason Todd's death at the hands of a guy who looked just like me did not amuse Batman. I had to do the fastest talking of my career to get him to not break all my limbs, and actually team up to take him down. We found my double at a warehouse near the East End docks, using a magic compass, and that was when he called himself Capricorn, for the villain from Inkheart. Lots of things were said and done that I regret, but the takeaway is he vanished into a portal to hell, I went away for cloning without a permit, apparently that's a thing here, and we both considered the matter if not settled as well handled as we could expect. Until he resurfaced.

He's been very slippery since, protected himself from scrying somehow, fled every fight that he didn't pick. And I'm not ashamed to say, in a lot of ways he seems more powerful than us. He's gotten magic of his own without giving up his libriomancy, or at least I think he hasn't, he might have just stockpiled first. Or he could have that ability through a demonic pact, or as a result of his own nature as a creation of magic, I just don't know. Further research is required, construct additional pylons. We've had a few scraps, bunch more sightings, and a handful of things I'm reasonably sure are him. 652 disembowled bodies in St. Petersburg? Pretty sure there are fourteen bodies missing. Then again, that may have been one of John's. Fortunately he isn't well known outside the magic and JLA communities, and spends a lot of time between atrocities.

Which is the part I really can't let Bruce, or Freddie, figure out.

Neither of them would be really happy with my running for mayor to draw my evil duplicate back to Gotham and end him. I mean, I'll be plenty happy if I can improve things along the way, but ending Capricorn's rampages is why I'm doing this.

"I'll be watching." I look up, and he's gone.

Heh.

I can't imagine for a moment that it's really over. But it looks like, for the moment, he's content to let me have enough rope to hang myself.

I'll take it.

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This one was hard, and I'm still hardly happy with it. Might edit it some more. How is it, no matter how carefully I proofread, I always find a dozen typos and errors the day after posting?

So there's the "secret" of Capricorn laid bare. There's an old fanfic saying about giving Sauron a Death Star if you give Frodo a lightsaber. I don't buy into it, mostly, but having stompfics where the OP protagonist gets it all his own way are dull, unless like OPM exploring that dynamic is exactly the point. For that matter, the DCU is already full of people who can threaten Bookworm and thwart his plans, or squash him like a bug, but from the moment I decided to make a real story of this, I thought I'd have to create an original villain, and the more I thought of it, the more Capricorn took shape, and the more it just made sense to me that Bookworm would have three major threats to contend with, the Bat, the Clown, and the Munchkin. Three people he could have turned out as, and conceivably might still.

Besides, someone ought to munchkin libriomancy to it's logical extremes, even if there are very good reasons for Bookworm not to.

The name, as referenced, is that of the villain from the novel Inkheart who is brought to life by magic broadly similar to libriomancy, and whose driving motivation is to force the heroes to restore his power by creating his pet monster. It seemed appropriate. By having a constellation/zodiac name, I also hoped to remind DC fans of Libra, to whom the concept of Capricorn owes a lot, and of magic in general by the tie to astrology. And by using the Goat to recall his ties to the demonic in general, with more tenuous ties to the Zodiac Killer and the Demon Constantine. It's always nice when a name can work on multiple levels.

Writing Batman is surprisingly hard. He's always so bluntly direct in his dialogue, but truly intelligent and has a rather intimate connection to his villains. Bruce understands his rogues on a very deep and personal level, and I'm having so much trouble putting that across.

Well, with that hurdle out of the way, the introductory arc is at least over.