Party and Umbrella (Final)

Cobblepot looked around. First, he glanced at the gun on Gordon’s belt, then at the cold aura still lingering around Batman, and finally at his own right arm, still not healed from its fracture and tied to the hospital bed rail. He sighed and said:

"I did kill old umbrella maker Wiggins, but I wasn’t a thief, nor was I a robber. That umbrella should have been mine to begin with."

As Cobblepot spoke, the truth gradually came to light.

"My father, Old Man Cobblepot, was once the leader of the Cobblepot family, one of the Four Great Families in the East End. Back then, the East End was still prosperous. The Four Great Families controlled dozens of streets throughout the district. The most central one was Green Street, beside what is now Living Hell. Our family estate was once spacious and luxurious as well."

"I’ve heard Brock mention that history," Gordon said, leaning against the table. "But what does that have to do with you killing an innocent umbrella maker?"

"Innocent? He was anything but!"

Cobblepot snorted. "Then you should also know that, a few years ago, old umbrella maker Wiggins was the only handmade umbrella maker in Gotham City."

"He still is," Gordon said, looking at Schiller. "That profession doesn’t need many people. Hardly anyone would pay a fortune for a handmade umbrella."

"But back then, every gang boss in the East End would go to Vickin Umbrella Shop to commission a handmade umbrella."

"You may think it was just a fad for handcrafted goods, or a way to show off their status…"

"Wasn’t it? Handmade goods take longer to make, are slower to produce, and come in limited quantities, so they get driven up to outrageous prices. But in reality, they aren’t any better than factory-made products." Batman turned his gaze to Schiller as well.

Cobblepot shook his head. "You don’t understand."

"My father also commissioned an umbrella from Vickin Umbrella Shop, but that umbrella maker broke the agreement. He took my father’s money, yet failed to deliver the umbrella on time. So my father was caught in the rain and died of pneumonia…"

"That’s absurd!" Gordon looked at Cobblepot as though he were insane. "Don’t tell me you killed the umbrella maker to avenge your father?"

He held out a hand. "Fine, I admit that the old umbrella maker was in the wrong for taking the money and failing to deliver on time. But was your father really waiting on that one umbrella? He would rather get soaked than use another umbrella because he didn’t have that one???"

Cobblepot stared at Gordon darkly. "That’s why I said you don’t understand anything."

"Who said my father went out without an umbrella? He had one, but those umbrellas were useless."

Gordon looked at Cobblepot as if he were a madman, but Cobblepot did not care. He closed his eyes as though recalling something and said, "My father knew things that others didn’t. He investigated them. They were things I can’t even describe…"

Then he opened his eyes and stared firmly into Gordon’s. "There’s something wrong with Gotham’s rain."

"That’s what he told me. If you wanted an umbrella to deal with Gotham’s rainy weather, you had better buy one from Vickin Umbrella Shop. Otherwise, it was useless."

Gordon frowned in confusion. "What do you mean? You’re saying… only umbrellas sold by Vickin Umbrella Shop can keep out Gotham’s rain? What kind of theory is that? How are factory-made umbrellas worse than those handmade ones? Isn’t it enough as long as they cover your body?"

Yet Schiller and Batman heard a different implication in his words. They exchanged a glance, and Batman asked, "You mean there’s something wrong with Gotham’s rain, and only umbrellas sold by Vickin Umbrella Shop can truly block it?"

Cobblepot nodded. "I don’t know whether you’ve heard this, but not just anyone can buy an umbrella from Vickin Umbrella Shop. Some people can get one, while others can’t."

"That means someone wants one group of people to be protected from the rain, while another group gets soaked."

"But what would be the point?" Gordon still did not understand. Everything they were discussing completely defied his worldview and sounded more like some kind of cryptic code.

Schiller rested a finger against his chin and asked, "Then what happened with your father? Why did he buy an umbrella, yet still get caught in the rain?"

"I don’t know," Cobblepot answered bluntly. "I only know that on the day he was supposed to receive the umbrella, he didn’t get it. But something happened that forced him to go out. He knew it might be dangerous, but he had no choice."

"What was it?"

"The Old Godfather’s eldest son died. My father had to attend the funeral."

"You think your father died because he didn’t have an umbrella that could truly block that rain?"

"That’s right. That’s why I said the umbrella should have been mine. My father paid for it, but never received it, and he paid for that with his life."

Schiller frowned and exchanged another glance with Batman. Clearly, they had both thought of the same thing.

"So you killed the umbrella maker to avenge your father?" Gordon asked Cobblepot.

Before Cobblepot could answer, Batman said, "No. He didn’t. He wasn’t doing it for revenge."

Gordon turned back toward Batman, but before he could ask, Schiller poked him with the umbrella in his hand. "Don’t ask. You only need to know that he’s an absolute expert when it comes to revenge."

Then he turned back to Cobblepot. "You indeed do not have a personality driven by revenge. To you, things that bring tangible benefits to yourself are more important."

Cobblepot let out a breath through his nose. "That’s right. I didn’t do it for my father. I did it for my mother."

"That’s why I kept asking you, Doctor, whether this illness can really be cured."

"What do you mean?"

Cobblepot said gloomily, "I suspect my mother’s illness may be… a curse."

"A curse? Tell us in detail."

"Before my mother had her first episode, she called for help. I don’t remember what she said, but she was lucid at the time, and she kept calling for help."

"Finally, just before she went mad, she told me, ‘The umbrella. Get the umbrella back. You must bring an umbrella…’"

"I had known about my father’s investigations for a long time, but only then did I realize that his death was probably not just an accident. He became the one who was abandoned. He did not receive an umbrella, could not block the rain, and therefore could not survive."

"My mother went mad. Whenever I mention anything about my father to her, she starts convulsing, cowers in terror, and cannot tell me anything useful."

"You suspect that your father and mother may have learned something, which was why one was killed and the other cursed, correct?"

"Was it your father who told you there was something wrong with Gotham’s rain?" Batman asked Cobblepot.

"He mentioned it, but more importantly, I found proof." Cobblepot struggled to sit upright in bed. "You upper-class people and rich men wouldn’t notice the changes in Living Hell."

"Haven’t you noticed that the order there has improved considerably?"

"Of course we have," Gordon said. "The murder rate there has dropped a great deal, because people’s living conditions have improved…"

"Don’t talk nonsense. Are there any shortage of wealthy criminals in Gotham?" Cobblepot cut Gordon off. "In the past, the residents of Living Hell got their water from wells. You know, open-air wells."

"But now it’s different. After the renovation, their drinking water has to pass through water purifiers buried underground…"

"That’s the heart of the problem." Cobblepot looked at Schiller. "I don’t understand psychological theories, but I know a person’s bad habits are difficult to change. If every resident of Living Hell was rotten by nature, then better living conditions could not have changed them so completely."

"I’ve seen firsthand how chaotic and insane the people there used to be. But ever since Living Hell was renovated, it’s as if they became different people. They still follow the gangland way, but they’re obviously much more normal."

"You think it was because their drinking water may previously have been mixed with Gotham’s rainwater?" Batman asked.

"That’s right. In fact, I used Fish’s people several times to investigate the water purifiers, but I never succeeded. Those things are too complicated. Based only on descriptions of their appearance, I couldn’t figure out how they worked."

Schiller looked at Batman and could see that Batman was thinking. As a transmigrator, he knew this might be the truth. At least some comics had mentioned that Gotham was so chaotic because the water cycle contained a special substance that drove people mad.

But he could not say that outright. They had to reason it out. So he tapped the table, drawing everyone’s attention, and said, "Let’s analyze this chain of logic."

"Oswald said Gotham’s rain has a problem and changes people’s personalities. The umbrellas sold by umbrella maker Wiggins are the only tools capable of effectively keeping out the rain."

"Assume that’s true. Then umbrella maker Wiggins was capable of making umbrellas that could block this kind of rain, yet he sold them to some people and refused to sell them to others. What was his purpose?"

"Maybe he simply couldn’t make enough?" Gordon guessed. "After all, making an umbrella by hand should be rather slow, shouldn’t it?"

"There weren’t many people buying umbrellas to begin with," Cobblepot said. "He sold them at such outrageous prices. How many people could afford them? Ten thousand dollars ten years ago—only a handful of the top gang bosses in the East End could afford that. Even if he made one umbrella a month, a year would have been enough to equip every gang boss in the East End with one."

"So he was screening people." Batman’s voice came from beside them. "That completes the logical loop."

"Someone behind the scenes used some method to make Gotham’s rain go wrong, then controlled an umbrella maker who sold useful umbrellas to certain people, allowing some to shelter beneath umbrellas while others had to be soaked by the rain… What would that lead to?"

He muttered to himself, "Some people would struggle to maintain order, while others would descend into chaos and madness…"

"Or rather…" Schiller sighed. "One group creates wealth for them, while the other ensures that this city never knows peace and remains forever shrouded in darkness."

"Now there’s only one question left. Who are they?" Cobblepot’s tone was ice-cold. Even if he was not driven by revenge like Batman, Penguin believed that the organization which had destroyed his family had to pay the price.

At that moment, Schiller took his umbrella and walked to the bedside. Looking at Cobblepot, he revealed a rather chilling smile and said:

"No wonder they knew I was the one behind all these changes. They had their eyes on me long ago."

Cobblepot stared at him in silence. Schiller turned the umbrella around, gripped it at the middle, and held the handle out before Cobblepot. "Mr. Cobblepot…"

"It’s called the Court of Owls. Take the umbrella and kill them."

Ten thousand words for today!

Aha! Didn’t see that coming, did you!