Gotham Avengers (Part 1)

In an office at Arkham Asylum, Gordon stood with his hands on his hips, watching Schiller fiddle with his umbrella.

Schiller had stripped off the entire canopy, leaving only the frame. He lowered his head, removed the handle, then yanked hard on one of the ribs.

That rib snapped with a crack, and a component in the middle shot out with a whoosh. Gordon let out a pained howl and covered the left side of his face. Schiller straightened up, looked at him, and said helplessly, "I told you not to watch me fix things. I have no education in mechanics or engineering, so collateral injuries are unavoidable."

Gordon stood up with his face covered, pulled the component from between his fingers, and showed it to him. "And I told you that you definitely couldn’t fix this thing. It looks ordinary, but it’s actually very complicated."

"Don’t you have anything else to do?" Schiller asked, lowering his head to continue fiddling with the umbrella frame. Then he glanced out the window and said to Gordon, "Are all cops this idle?"

"I’m solving problems at the source." Gordon folded his arms and looked at Schiller. "I’ve noticed a pattern. As long as we keep an eye on you, no troublesome jobs come looking for us."

Before Schiller could refute him, Gordon continued, "So that secret society you invited me into last time was created to fight the mysterious organization Cobblepot mentioned, the one poisoning Gotham’s rainwater?"

"That wasn’t an invitation. The moment you learned that fact, you had already joined, and had no choice but to join. Even if you don’t fight them, they’ll come for you."

Gordon’s brow furrowed tightly. "Those supernatural powers really exist? Things like… magic and witchcraft?"

"Do you believe in God?"

"Of course I…"

"God exists, so why can’t magic and witchcraft exist?"

Gordon opened his mouth. He felt Schiller had a point, but he was not a particularly devout believer, only someone with vague faith. He had no real conception of that mystical stuff.

Schiller twisted the umbrella handle, only for it to fall right off. Gordon heard him curse before he picked it up and threw it away.

Gordon truly could not stand watching him repair things like such a complete amateur. He walked over, picked up the handle, and said, "How about this? If you give me a detailed introduction to that organization, I’ll find someone who can fix this thing for you. Deal?"

"Don’t joke. Gotham’s only umbrella maker is already dead. Even if people from other cities know how to do this, they wouldn’t dare come to Gotham. I can’t exactly go all the way to Metropolis just to fix an umbrella, can I?"

"Honestly, even going to Metropolis might be faster than fixing it yourself." Gordon and Schiller both lowered their heads, their gazes falling on the umbrella that had been dismantled into a complete mess.

Schiller had to admit Gordon was right. He had no talent whatsoever in this area and was just blindly messing around. Ever since Stark’s laboratory, he should have understood that he could screw in a lightbulb, and that was all he could do.

"Where are you planning to find someone who can fix umbrellas?"

"I can’t find an umbrella repairman, but I do know someone who can modify traffic lights."

As he picked up the phone and dialed, Gordon said to Schiller, "Remember that kid from Traffic Safety Day who tampered with the traffic-light wiring?"

"Oh, I vaguely remember him. He made it so that, out of four intersections, only the one on the right could pass through without obstruction, and then a shootout broke out there…"

Gordon spoke into the phone. "Hello? Go to the East End and bring Little Rascal here. I need him for something."

Not long after he hung up, a young officer walked in carrying a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old boy by the back of his collar. The boy was cursing nonstop, but the moment he saw Gordon, he suddenly wilted like an eggplant struck by frost.

Gordon patted his back and had him come over. Then he said, "This is Little Rascal, a Genius Kid. He can do electrical work, handle wiring, and has even invented some mechanical devices of his own."

"What’s your name?" Schiller asked him.

"I don’t have one. People call me Little Rascal."

Though Gordon was already considered one of Gotham’s more presentable and civilized police officers, years of frontline work had given him a tough aura. By comparison, Schiller, the refined university professor, looked far more approachable. Little Rascal darted behind Schiller and made a face at Gordon.

Gordon introduced him helplessly. "This little guy was the culprit behind tampering with the traffic-light wiring at Central Roundabout. He was hired by a gang boss on Madrid Street. To let the gang’s trucks move faster, he pried open the traffic lights in the middle of the night and altered the wiring inside…"

"He wasn’t born in Gotham either. He came from the countryside around Bludhaven. His parents died, and his uncle, an electrician, brought him to Gotham to work and earn money. But his uncle was in poor health and died of illness only a few months after arriving, leaving him all alone."

"This kid is smart." Gordon looked at Little Rascal with undisguised admiration.

"He actually survived in Gotham by himself, and survived quite well. With the electrical skills he learned from his uncle, several gang bosses treated him like an honored guest. If I didn’t have a little pull, I wouldn’t have been able to get him here."

Schiller turned back to look at Little Rascal. He was a white boy with messy red curls and a pair of glasses.

He really did not look like a child from the Gotham Slums. Though young, he was not skinny at all. He was even much sturdier than Cobblepot, with a healthy complexion and lively eyes, none of the numbness seen in other children.

There were not many children with glasses in Gotham. They neither studied nor went to school, so they did not strain their eyes. Few parents were nearsighted, either, so there was little to inherit. Little Rascal’s appearance thus seemed utterly out of place.

Schiller picked up the broken umbrella and handed it to Little Rascal. "If you fix this for me, I’ll give you a super cool toolbox."

Little Rascal took the umbrella and inspected it from top to bottom. Somewhat astonished, he said, "How did this umbrella get damaged so badly? Don’t tell me you took it onto a battlefield?"

Gordon said gleefully, "The last time I saw this umbrella, it wasn’t nearly this damaged. It’s just that someone didn’t know how to fix it but insisted on trying…"

Schiller rolled his eyes, dragged over a chair, and sat down. "It’s all Fish and Cobblepot’s fault. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t have had to…"

"Wait!" Little Rascal suddenly cried out. "This umbrella is incredible! Why is every single component different?"

Schiller stood up and said, "Wait here. I’ll get you a toolbox."

He went to the doorway, called over a nurse, and said a few words. A moment later, the nurse carried in a toolbox.

When it was opened, it revealed three or four layers of tool trays. Little Rascal exclaimed, "That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted a toolbox like this. Too bad my uncle’s was too small…"

"If you can fix this umbrella, this toolbox is yours."

"Leave it to me." Little Rascal picked up the umbrella and dismantled it completely in a few quick motions. He worked at it for a long while as Schiller and Gordon watched nearby, though neither of them understood a thing.

After a while, Little Rascal paused beside the table. Stroking his chin, he said with some difficulty, "This is a little troublesome."

"This thing was handmade, right? The parts were cast, polished, and then assembled together, correct?"

"That’s right. It’s a custom-made handmade umbrella."

"Then why don’t you go find…"

Seeing Schiller’s face darken again, Gordon stepped forward and covered Little Rascal’s mouth. "Don’t ask about that. Just hurry up and fix it for him."

"But this umbrella is strange. I’m afraid only the person who made it can fix it." Little Rascal shrugged. Pointing to a small pile of components, he said to Schiller, "Look here. There should originally be six components here, but now there are only five."

Then he pushed over a damaged component from the side. "This is the missing one. This screw looks like it was burned by fire. All the threads have been ruined."

"That’s why one of the ribs can’t open at all. But to fix it, we need to find an identical screw."

"Normally, I could replace the nut along with it, but I don’t know what’s going on with this material. A welding pen doesn’t work on it at all…"

Little Rascal said to Schiller, "I really want that toolbox. I did my best, but the materials used by whoever made this are too special. They’re completely different from factory assembly-line products. I can’t handle it either."

Schiller and Gordon exchanged a glance. Clearly, they had both thought of something else. Schiller asked Little Rascal, "Are you sure only the umbrella maker who made this umbrella can repair it?"

"Most likely. I’m not bragging, but I could screw a bolt into a nut before I could even walk."

He picked up a screw and showed it to Schiller. "Look at the threading. You can see traces of handwork, but more importantly, its thread design is very unusual. A standard screw simply won’t fit."

"What about recasting one?"

"You can try." Little Rascal shook his head. "But I don’t think there’s much hope. The fit is very peculiar. If the materials don’t match, it might not attach properly."

In the end, Schiller still gave the toolbox to Little Rascal. Then he said, "If you’re willing, you can go study at the vocational school in Living Hell. A Mechanical Engineering professor from Gotham University teaches there. With your talent, he’ll definitely be pleasantly surprised."

After Little Rascal left, Schiller picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Yes, it’s me. Do you have time to come over now? What? You’re already on your way? All right…"

About twenty minutes later, Batman appeared in the office. Gordon, Schiller, and Batman stood around the table, looking at the umbrella.

"So you’re saying that this umbrella, made by the umbrella maker Wiggins under the Court of Owls’ instructions, can only be repaired by one of their own?"

Batman picked up one of the components, narrowed his eyes as he examined it, and said nothing.

"Fine." Schiller tossed the handle in his hand onto the table, then looked Batman over and asked, "You spent a long time in Cobblepot and Evans’s ward last night. What did you talk about?"

As Batman fiddled with the umbrella components, he said, "The three of us are planning to join forces."

Gordon looked at him as well and asked, "Join forces? To do what? Deal with the Court of Owls?"

"That’s right. We’re all interested in that mysterious organization, so we plan to investigate it from different angles."

"You said you were already coming over today. What was it about?"

"I originally came to discuss a question, but now I have the answer." As he spoke, Batman took out another component, nearly identical to the damaged one. "I found this last night. On another umbrella."

As Batman spoke, time rewound to the previous night.