To Batgirl’s Exotic Destination

Rain lashed at Batgirl’s body and water dripped incessantly from the wires encompassing her body even before her fateful flight began. Once she was aloft, the powerful storm winds drew wires tightly against her as it carried her balloon quickly toward the Atlantic Ocean. With each passing second, she drifted upward and the wires chafing against her, tore at the thin fabric of her costume, and began digging into her newly exposed flesh.

When Batgirl had pitted herself against multiple arch-criminals simultaneously in the past, one had always seemed to take the lead when an opportunity to eliminate her arose. On this occasion, Catwoman had stepped in and incorporated her ‘final touch,’ which complicated any means of escape Batgirl might have had.

As she drifted toward her doom, Batgirl watched the villains and their minions disperse and noticed the hench-kittens had been entrusted with the criminals’ prisoner. She could only imagine what the heinous hellcats would do to Vladimir Pavel Chekov, the Bessarovian Deputy Undersecretary of International Affairs, and what perverse pleasure they would take from their criminal chores.

The Gorgeous Guardian of Gotham City grimly remembered how the hench-kittens had relished winding the wicked wires around her body and cinching them almost tightly enough to break her skin. She shuddered, causing wire to slice deeper into her costume and flesh. Breath hissed between her gritted teeth as the terminal torture Catwoman had ordered for the Curved Crusader continued.

‘I don’t think blood has been drawn — yet!’

The Purple-Clad Paragon chastised herself for dwelling on the combined fiendishness of the criminals whom she had chosen to oppose. Nothing should have surprised Batgirl about Catwoman and Penguin’s combined capacity for criminal cunning. Catwoman had determination, a very agile mind, and nerves, while Penguin’s frequent boasts about his own genius were far from empty. He had not been seen in Gotham City as frequently in recent years as he once had, but the scope of his crimes seemed as boundless as ever.

Catwoman had perpetrated a string of offenses against Batgirl that rivaled the list Batgirl maintained of Joker’s transgressions. Of course, the Feline Fiend had her own grievances against the Curved Crusader, who had on occasion done more than simply thwart her plans and arrest her.

The lack of love between the two women was well known, and Batgirl imagined the complex nature of their relationship motivated Catwoman to follow the drifting balloon in the Kitty Car as the unusual aircraft carried her toward her fate.

‘So’ Batgirl thought, ’Catwoman wants to watch me die. Fine! If I can arrange for her to witness the balloon’s destruction, my survival will seem quite miraculous when I catch up to her.’ A grim smile curled the corners of Batgirl’s mouth. ‘All I have to do is escape from the balloon before lightning strikes it without Catwoman seeing me. Hiding my escape should be simple enough. If I’m right, survival will be my only problem!’

Batgirl took comfort from the weight of her utility belt encircling her waist. While she knew the metal objects it contained would help attract deadly lightening, as Penguin had predicted, the vast array of technological wonders and simple tools she carried had enabled her to perform veritable miracles in the past. Therefore, criminals routinely deprived her of the gadget-laden girdle, assuming she would be helpless without it.

Positioned as she was, however, the collection of gadgets carried on her bountiful belt was hopelessly out of reach. After surviving her first sans-belt, deadly situation, she had begun to routinely carry a collection of lock picks and sharp blades in her gloves and boots for use when the devices in her belt were unavailable. Since then, her record as an escape artist would have astonished Houdini.

To reach one such item, Batgirl clenched her fists and winced as metal cut deeply into her flesh. The comment she made was drowned out by a thunderclap, but the precursory lightning had given her, for a split second, a chance to examine the position of one hand.

“I’ve got to reach my hacksaw blade,” Batgirl muttered through gritted teeth. “Otherwise . . . .”

Her fingers stretched for the blade. Water dripped from the thoroughly sodden surface of her glove. Suddenly, Batgirl sneezed and felt the wires bite deeply into her flesh. ‘Now, I am bleeding!’

She controlled herself and took a deep breath. Again she reached for the hacksaw. Her fingers gripped it and slowly, carefully began to extract it from its sheath. Batgirl knew she had to concentrate in order to keep her focus and prevent her one chance at escape from literally slipping through her fingers.

Once the blade was free of its sheath, Batgirl turned the cutting surface toward the short chain of the handcuff that bound her hand and began to draw it back and forth slowly. It seemed like an eternity before the chain was cut in two, but Batgirl’s freedom from the handcuff gave her only limited use of one hand and an arm. The wires of Catwoman’s Cat’s Cradle still held her arm mostly immobile. These, however, would be much easier to cut through than the chain.

Pain diminished the rapidity with which her hacksaw could cut through the wires, as its weight and the friction the cutting motion generated let wires press more deeply into Batgirl’s flesh. Finally, with one arm completely liberated, she clenched her teeth as her fingers stretched, reaching for her utility belt.

She knew she would have to abandon the balloon once she was free, a condition still a long way off, but the only place she could go then was into the sea below. There she would face a myriad of new dangers.

In addition to tools she could use to cut her bonds in a matter of minutes, her belt held a device that might prove to be the key to her survival: a tracer set to the police frequency. She had once used the system, donated by Bruce Wayne, to summon aide that had extracted her from the second villainous variation of Catwoman’s Cat’s Whiskers, which had constricted in response to movement.

It was decision time. Batgirl could retrieve the tools to free herself from her restraints completely or activate the tracer first. ‘Which course of action makes more sense?’ she wondered.

Batgirl reached behind her and wrenched at the compartment of her belt that held the tracer. Activating it took a mere second before she moved on to collect wire cutters.

With this tool, she was able to snip at wire after wire, separating herself from Catwoman’s tightly cinched bindings, which she carefully slid from the cuts they had made in her costume and flesh. Once the Cat’s Cradle surrounding her upper body had been eliminated, she exchanged her wire cutters for a lock pick, with which she attacked her remaining wrist restraint. She winced when she bent forward, gasping as the pain paralyzed her momentarily. The wire cutters dealt with the remainder of the Cat’s Cradle and Batgirl slid wires from the lacerations in her costume and legs with meticulous care. She ignored the blood mingled with the water streaming along her lower body and the pain that accompanied her every movement as she reached toward her leg restraints with the lock picks. Less than a minute later, the metal bands encircling her ankles were open and she was leaning uncomfortably against one side of the hot air balloon basket.

She bent over the edge of the basket and saw the sea rolling far beneath her as she put her tools away. On the horizon, she spotted the lights of a boat.

She heard the ominous sound of thunder and knew she had to leave the balloon immediately. Tumbling over the side, Batgirl realized electricity from a lightening strike had ignited the gas inflating the balloon, and a fireball illuminated the sky above her!

Batgirl grabbed the ends of her cape, forming something of a parasail. She knew the surface area of her makeshift parachute wasn’t nearly enough to slow her sufficiently to allow a safe landing on land. She hoped, however, the effort would slow her descent to the point she could align her feet so that the impact with the ocean would be survivable.

She hit the water and blacked out as the waters closed above her.

Later, Catwoman entered the living room of the furnished mansion perched on the cliff where Penguin had arranged for them to hide out. Purdy heard her and stretched, sitting up on the couch and folding her bare legs beneath the prisoner’s collared shirt, which was quite large for her, but was all she wore over her lacey, black underthings.

“Well?” Catwoman demanded.

“Vladi loved the show Tabitha put on for him so much he told me everything. Mittens and Whiskers are resting, the others are with him now.”

“Is he awake?”

“Rumor has it. Mittens, Whiskers, and Tabitha are very good at what you told them to do. In fact, I understand they’re going to ask him who is best tomorrow morning.”

“I notice you have a glow about you yourself, my dear.”

“Well, boss, the interrogation was intense and I got the results you wanted. I’m sure you realized the technique you suggested offered certain dividends to everyone. That’s why the others will also follow your instructions to the letter. What did you expect?” Purdy asked. She could not help but chuckle happily.

Catwoman sank onto a leopard-patterned cushion and regarded Purdy with a look that soon made the hench-kitten shiver. “You know, Purdy, if I weren’t absolutely delighted right now, I’d thrash you for asking that. I demand respect and expect purr-fection.”

“Sorry, boss,” the chastised hench-kitten said, bowing her head.

“Never mind. You’ve met half of my expectations, and I’ve seen with my own eyes what I’ve been dreaming about for years.”

“What finally happened to Batgirl?” Purdy asked, leaning forward and regarding her employer with spakling eyes.

“She went up in smoke—like the Hindenberg!” Catwoman and her head hench-kitten shared a long, delighted laugh. The merriment was infectious and their bodies quaked helplessly for several minutes.

“So,” Purdy said, once she had recovered, “Penguin’s – and your – scheme ultimately worked and we’re rid of Batgirl forever.”

“Precisely. Unless the Dynamic Distractions or those other dizzy dames with whom they work show their masks, nothing can stop us,” Catwoman purred. She stretched lazily. “I’m very satisfied with tonight’s work.”

“You have a wonderful way with words, Catwoman,” Purdy said. Her eyes closed and she felt the tension her leader’s arrival had caused leak away from her body as her mind recalled her amorous activities from earlier that night. “Batgirl is finally dead. So many others have tried to kill her so many times over the years in so many different ways. I guess that’s true of Batman and the others, too.”

“You know,” Catwoman said casually, “my dealings with Batman are responsible for my large vocabulary and vastly increased word power.”

“Speaking of Batman, what if he or his friends do cross our path? None of them will be happy Batgirl has . . . gone up in smoke.”

“At this stage, their interference would be very unfortunate—for them!”

“Business before pleasure?”

“Precisely, Purdy.” Catwoman looked around. “Where’s Penguin?”

“He’s upstairs with Undine. He did not want to be disturbed by anyone for any reason.”

“Men,” Catwoman said disgustedly, shaking her head. ‘They’re all the same . . . except for Batman.’

Purdy smirked and went on, chuckling. “I would expect Undine and Pengy are both quite exhausted by now.”

“While Penguin is purr-fectly acceptable as a partner in crime, the thought of him as any other kind of partner makes me want to hack up a fur ball.”

Purdy grunted her assent to Catwoman’s assessment of the Bumbershoot Bandit.

Closing the subject, Catwoman asked, “Now, tell me what you learned from our prisoner.”

“Do you want to know everything, or shall I stick to business?”

Purdy stuck to business and kept her employer’s attention for the next half hour. “Purr-fect,” Catwoman complimented. “How will the prisoner be - physically - when the Penguin is ready to question him?”

“Awake, but exhausted, and very happy,” Purdy replied. “He'll have had no sleep and lots of exercise, purr your instructions. Part of me hopes Penguin doesn’t hurt him too badly.”

“Pengy is too smart to just tell his goons to beat answers out of our prisoner. Besides, he doesn’t trust his help the way I trust you kittens. He’ll be on hand to hear the answers to his questions purr-sonally. While his finks might be inclined toward brutality, I think the Penguin would prefer to get his information through more subtle means,” Catwoman said soothingly. “That is the main reason I invited him to help us with this caper. Soon, once it’s complete, we’ll have enough money to keep us in catnip forever. Now, get some sleep, Purdy.” The head hench-kitten mounted the stairs as delighted giggling and a lengthy moan sounded from another room.

Batgirl blinked at a bright light into which she seemed to be staring when she revived. She raised a hand defensively, but lowered it shortly when she realized it was the sunlit sky outside a circular window. As unusual as circular windows were, there were other discoveries to be made about her situation before seeking explanations for every oddity.

She was alive, lying on her belly with her other arm and legs outstretched. She could not feel the weight of her sodden cape and a chill breeze touched bare flesh on her back.

A shiver caused by that sensation thrilled her as the cool air gently brushed her skin. The fact she was alive at all amazed her. The hellish explosion that had destroyed the balloon would have consumed her like a marshmallow on a stick in a campfire, had she lingered a moment longer. Plunging into the sea from a great height, however, had not been a much more inviting fate.

‘It’s a near miracle I didn’t break my neck when I hit the water, not to mention myriad other bones. After surviving the impact, I would have sunk deep into the sea. Even assuming I floated to the surface at all before I drowned, there are several carnivorous fish that should have been aware of me the moment my bloodied body hit the water. I would think I would have been devoured like a piece of bait shortly afterward.’

As her gloomy analysis went on, Batgirl realized the astronomical unlikelihood of her survival. ‘Yet, somehow, here I am . . . wherever here is.’

Another glance at the circular window made her realize she was on a seagoing vessel of some kind. The circular window was a porthole.

A second gust of wind chilled her flesh. The return of the thrilling shiver that had, seconds earlier, reminded her she was alive now brought a realization that stirred well-harbored terrors. Batgirl wore a skintight costume that covered her body from neck to toes. Twice she had felt wind on the bare flesh of her back!

“Where am I? What happened?” she asked, more softly than she would have wished.

Batgirl sprung to her knees when a familiar voice behind her said, “You’re on a police launch.”

“Doctor Vince?!” One of Batgirl’s hands immediately went to her head, the other to her breasts. She was relieved to confirm her cowl was still in place and that remnants of her costume maintained her dignity.

Doctor Vince had both defrosted the Dynamic Duo after Mister Freeze had shot them with his freeze gun a decade ago, and counteracted Poison Ivy’s lethal itching chemical, with which the tantalizing tree-hugger had attacked them. He had also met Batgirl for the first time on that occasion.

Batgirl’s second, more memorable meeting with Doctor Vince had occurred the previous year, following her escape from Black Widow. The senior citizen super-villainess had injected hundreds of spider eggs into the layers of Batgirl’s flesh, where they would have incubated; hatched; and enabled the numerous, venomous baby killers to utterly devour Batgirl. Doctor Vince had prescribed and performed a very thorough massage designed to shatter the eggs and keep them from hatching.

Batgirl recalled the feel of the man’s strong hands. He had gone about his work in a completely professional manner. Stretching, she considered the punishment her body had endured in the past few days. Surprisingly, she felt pretty good and silently thanked Heaven she kept herself in tip-top physical condition. Absently, she wondered whether she could reasonably persuade Doctor Vince to massage her again.

“We fished you out of the sea, thanks to a homing beacon we were following,” the tall, muscular man was saying when Batgirl’s mind returned to the present. “When the signal came in, Commissioner Gordon asked me to join the search, in case you needed medical attention. Without that beacon, we might never have found you.”

“The tracer,” Batgirl said. Her voice seemed a little stronger.

“When you were brought aboard, you were unconscious, beginning to experience hypothermia, and bleeding from a few deep lacerations.”

“I would have drowned.”

“Almost certainly.”

Batgirl looked down along the line of her body. Patches of the front of her costume had been cut away and the wounds the cutting had exposed were cleaned and bandaged. She rolled over onto her back and propped herself up on her elbows so she could see more of the nautical cabin in which she was recovering. Her cape had been draped over a basin and Doctor Vince sat at a desk, regarding his patient with a smile.

“Thank you once again for your help, Doctor.”

“Now, I told you once before to call me Vince.”

Batgirl gave the doctor a bemused look that would have done Katherine Hepburn proud. “I’ve been wondering about that–-“

“You’ve been thinking about me, Batgirl? I’m flattered.”

The Scourge of Gotham City’s Underworld and Defender of Trust and Justice pointedly ignored the interruption. “Isn’t Vince your last name?”

The doctor looked embarrassed. “I don’t like my first name.”

“Oh, a mystery!” Batgirl said teasingly. “I’d love to find out what it is.”

The doctor brightened, joining in the game. “I’d love for you to try!”

Batgirl was attracted to the physician. She had known that during their second meeting and strongly suspected he felt the same way.

Unfortunately, it was difficult, although not impossible, for Batgirl to go on a date. In addition, it would be too much of a risk to her secret identity for Barbara Gordon to “run into” the handsome healer.

With a silent sigh, Batgirl returned to business. “When do you feel I can go after Catwoman and Penguin?”

“Not before getting a good night’s sleep. You’ll recover from the injuries, but adrenaline is making you feel a lot stronger than you really are.”

She nodded, sat up and slid from the bunk. “One more question,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes, “what treatment did I receive when I was first brought on board?”

The doctor blushed slightly and cleared his throat. “I administered mouth-to-mouth resuscitation,” he reported. His voice grew quicker as he continued. “You recovered very quickly.”

Batgirl smiled at the good-looking doctor and stepped toward him. Suddenly she stumbled. Doctor Vince caught her and rolled her onto her back, lifting her effortlessly in his strong arms. As he looked down at her she smiled. He went on staring at her and became aware of her eyes.

‘Windows to the soul,’ he had heard eyes called. Batgirl’s were clear, deep, and very entrancing as she regarded him. After awhile, he realized he must have seemed like an idiot, holding her as he was, yet she had neither protested, nor made a single move to escape his arms.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Much better,” Batgirl said. “Whatever the Gotham City P. D. is paying you, you’ve earned it.”

“It’s on the house, Batgirl,” he said, grinning down at her, “all part of my community service.”

“In that case,” Batgirl said. She reached up and laced her fingers behind his neck, pulling herself upward and pressing her mouth against his. She kissed him slowly, gently.

“Thank you,” Doctor Vince said once the kiss had broken, and he had set her down. “Thank you very much.”

“Most citizens think I’m totally self-sufficient,” Batgirl said. “I’ll need you to keep my treatment a secret.”

“Of course. Doctor-patient confidentiality, you know.”

“Thank you again.” Batgirl, who had never stepped from the doctor’s grasp, leaned forward and brought her lips to his again. She raised herself on tiptoe as he instinctively drew her upward. As the second kiss continued, she felt her hands sliding over his shoulders from behind. Her hands drifted over his sides and down his back to his waist. Slowly, he drew her closer. They lingered in one another’s arms for a third kiss.

“Thank you,” Vince said when the kiss broke. He held her at arms length. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about what I’m about to say, Batgirl, but I feel it is my duty to remind you that your tracer allowed us to find you. The person most responsible for you being alive right now is you.”

Batgirl grinned. “I understand, Vince. I also think you earned your kisses.”

“It’s been my pleasure, Batgirl. I’d do it all again. Any time.” Batgirl could feel the adrenaline ebbing away and leaned forward, letting her head rest on the doctor’s muscular shoulder. He went on holding her and they stood clasped together, gazing into one another’s eyes.

Suddenly, Doctor Vince let go of Batgirl and looked away.

“Batgirl, I . . .”

“What is it, Vince? What’s wrong?”

“I have been thinking about you since we last met.”

“Oh, so now it’s my turn to be flattered?” Batgirl said happily.

The doctor, though, was serious. “I . . . I learned something about you. Something I discovered completely by accident–”

Batgirl was suddenly filled with apprehension. She had worried about Doctor Vince learning clues to her secret identity in the process of gathering evidence against Black Widow. ‘Did he somehow discover I’m Barbara Gordon?!’

All warmth left Batgirl’s voice as she asked, “What did you discover about me?”

“Honestly compels me to tell you that . . .” Doctor Vince took a deep breath, “I know Batgirl wears a wig.”

Batgirl stared at Doctor Vince for a full five seconds.

Then she burst out laughing.

“Is that all?” Batgirl jumped back into his arms.

Before he could respond, a knock sounded at the door. Without waiting for an answer, police Lieutenant Diana Mooney leaned her head into the room. “How is your patient doing, Doctor?” Then she took in the scene of the pair releasing one another. “Oh,” she said, hesitating. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s all right, Diana,” Batgirl said too quickly. "Vince and I were just—“

"Vince?" Mooney asked, a grin playing at the corners of her mouth.

“Please, Batgirl,” the doctor said, rescuing Batgirl for a second time that night, “just get some rest before you go after the crooks who did this to you.” He reached for her cape and helped her put it on. The garment, unlike the rest of her costume, had not quite dried.

“I will, Vince. I promise. Thank you one more time . . . for everything.”

As Batgirl followed Lieutenant Mooney on deck, Doctor Vince replayed the events that had transpired since Batgirl regained consciousness in his mind. It occurred to him how unnatural Batgirl’s near fall had seemed. “Be careful,” he said softly to Batgirl’s retreating back.

The rain had stopped and its deadly violence had been replaced by a reverent stillness that seemed almost undisturbed by the sounds of the city along the shore and bustle of the busy harbor where the police launch was berthed. “Thank you for coming after me, Diana,” Batgirl said seriously as the two friends leaned against the rail at the stern.

“The Commissioner called in several more bodies when you went to meet Catwoman and Penguin. He was certain you were walking into a trap.”

“I walked in with open eyes. My plan to beat my way through their thugs worked fine. Unfortunately, they were more prepared for me than I had planned, and their trap nearly killed me.” Batgirl went on to tell her friend the whole story.

“Will you want help when you go after Catwoman and Penguin?”

“I don’t think so.”

Mooney frowned. “The Commissioner is perfectly willing to call in Batman or Batwoman.”

“He shouldn’t. With the five of us, there are plenty of independently operating crimefighters in Gotham City. It's not necessary to call all of us in on every case. Besides, Catwoman and Penguin are mine!”

“You know, I’m always available.”

Batgirl smiled at the lieutenant. “And you know I appreciate that, but often, when dealing with costumed criminals, more . . . creative methods are better than approved police procedures.”

Diana considered Batgirl’s statement. They had had similar discussions before. “Listen, I know you got pretty mad at Joker after everything he did and had done to you–”

“This is different!” Batgirl insisted.

“Then you aren’t at all angry with Catwoman?” Mooney asked skeptically.

“Catwoman and I have issues, but I’ve put them aside in this case.”

“Do you seriously expect me to believe that?” Lieutenant Mooney demanded. “Remember, Batgirl, I know you.”

“Penguin and Catwoman think I’m dead, so they're more likely to lower their guard and make a mistake I can exploit – if I go after them by myself.”

Batgirl paused a beat, then concluded, "Besides, I’m not the only one with whom Catwoman is upset."

Diana Mooney had infiltrated Catwoman’s gang when the Feline Felon had teamed up with the sinister Sandman. After the policewoman's cover had been blown, Robin had helped her pull herself together when they found each other in an electrified maze in which the Princess of Plunder had imprisoned them both. Following promotion, the lovely lieutenant had led numerous squads against the Catwoman -- and been tortured and targeted for death for her trouble.

The Lieutenant considered Batgirl’s response, as well as her own experiences with the Feline Fiend. Her friend was very experienced and more resourceful than many veteran officers she knew. “The advantage of surprise, combined with your stunning beauty, will enable you to easily beat them senseless and thus bring them to justice.”

“Your analysis omitted the fact I work out.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Both friends laughed, grinning. They both knew the argument about Batgirl’s decision was over.

“Don’t worry, though, Lieutenant. I’ll call you in when the time is right. I know you’ll get extra satisfaction from putting Catwoman back behind bars.”

“Okay,” Lieutenant Mooney said, returning the conversation to the current status of the case, as opposed to its desired resolution. ”Let’s go over the crooks’ movements. Did Penguin have the prisoner at the balloon factory?”

“Yes. I'm guessing he and Catwoman went there right from the lecture hall.”

“That makes sense if they had to get set up for you to arrive. What do you imagine they have in store for their prisoner, now that those crooks think you’re out of the way?”

Batgirl turned to her friend and regarded the police lieutenant seriously. “They kidnapped him for a reason, Diana,” she said. “I hope he is resisting participation in their plans, but I shudder to imagine what those two will do to induce his cooperation.”

The Dark Knight Damsel looked down at her costume. Swaths had been cut out of its front, and she knew most of her back was exposed under her cape. In addition, the material around her knees was bagging out badly, a constant problem. “I think the first thing I need to do, though, is to get into a new costume–”

“No,” Mooney admonished, “the first thing you need to do is get some rest, remember? Doctor’s orders.”

Batgirl sighed. She knew this was one argument she wasn’t going to win. “Yes, you’re right. I’m going”

As Batgirl started to leave, the lieutenant stopped the lovely vigilante short with a question. “He’s kinda cute, isn’t he?”

Now, it was Batgirl who blushed. She turned and regarded her friend innocently, batting her eyelashes like a Southern belle. “Why my dear Lieutenant Mooney, I don’t have the slightest idea about whom you’re talking.”

Later, at the Penguin’s luxurious perch, Whiskers and Mittens led Vladimir Pavel Chekov into the Penguin’s presence. “Where are my finks, Catwoman? Wak, wak, wak! What are your people doing with my prisoner?” the wily bird demanded.

Catwoman only turned her head to regard him from where she lay curled on a love seat. “Good morning to you, too, Penguin,” she said, her voice lashing at him like a whip. “I decided we would not need your men once you and Undine departed to deal with . . . your respective wardrobes. I sent them away so you wouldn’t be disturbed.”

“Wak! Very considerate, Catwoman!” Penguin said insincerely. “So, where did they go when you sent them away?”

“I might know, Mister Penguin,” the taller blonde hench-kitten said.

“Mittens!” Whiskers objected as the male criminal turned to regard her.

Mittens glanced at Catwoman, who shrugged and nodded.

“Tell me what you know,” Penguin commanded.

“Well, I think your men were a little disappointed the girls and I had to work after Batgirl’s launch,’ Mittens explained. “So we mentioned one of the sorority’s legendary, wild parties was scheduled for last night. I’d imagine they went to the Eta Beta Lotaka house, since they had something to celebrate.”

“If she’s right,“ Whiskers added, “your finks are probably still in capable hands as we speak.”

“Wak! I see."

“Now, if I may continue.” Catwoman waited until the scowl on Penguin’s face vanished. “Since you had put our prisoner in my custody, I told my people to guard him. You may deal with him whenever you wish, or you and Undine can leave together to do . . . whatever, and I’ll cut you out of the deal! The choice is yours!”

Chekov had been observing this exchange with bemused interest. “Look,” the diplomat said, “I’m tired. I demand to know the meaning of this outrage!”

The Penguin walked to the man and regarded him though a haze of cigarette smoke. “You’ve been kidnapped by two of the most fiendish criminals in this country and you demand to know the meaning of this ‘outrage’?!” Penguin asked. “You have nerve, sir!”

“That is correct,” the diplomat replied evenly.

. “Tell me, sir. Wak!” the Penguin said, gesturing with his cigarette holder. “Who are you to make such a demand of me?”

“I am the Bessarovian Deputy Undersecretary of International Affairs, and kidnapping me is an act of war, sir. I demand to know what you intend to do with me!”

“You do? Wak, wak, wak!”

“Certainly!”

“Then I’ll tell you,” the Penguin said, grinning wickedly as his eyes twinkled. “First, I am the Penguin, an unparalleled criminal genius of the highest magnitude. I’ve placed you in the care of the Catwoman.”

“I’ll admit, her assistants are quite . . . capable,” Chekov conceded, smiling in spite of himself as he glanced at his blonde companions, “be that as it may, if you’d kindly stop stalling and answer my question!”

“Mr. Chekov, I am about to have you placed in my Penguin Box, where I’ll teach you to waddle like a penguin. Wak, wak, wak! Take him!”

Catwoman gestured, prompting Whiskers and Mittens to drag the hapless man backward toward a device resembling a Turkish bath. When the hench-kittens reached their objective, Mittens held the man while Whiskers opened the box. Before Mittens shoved him into place and helped secure him, Whiskers tore the leopard-patterned robe from his shoulders to reveal he had worn only a pair of black, silk shorts beneath it.

“Wak! Interesting outfit,” Penguin observed, turning to Catwoman. “Just what did your people do to him last night?”

“I thought the idea was to sweat information about Bessarovian national treasures out of the old boy,” the blonde queen of crime explained. “I had my kittens begin the process. I’m told they were tempted to leave him in less this morning.” Mittens and Whiskers stole wicked glance at one another.

Penguin favored the hench-kittens with an appraising glance. “I see,” he murmured. “Interesting. Wak!”

“I’ll answer no improper questions about my native country!” the foreign bureaucrat raged. “To do so would be treason!”

“I believe you’re right. Wak!” Penguin agreed happily. “That’s why this box will redirect the passion of your patriotism into the more important task of serving me. Wak, wak, wak! How does that grab you?”

“It’s utterly impossible! You are nothing more than a common criminal!”

“Wak!” The Penguin paced angrily past the prisoner and approached the prettily posed Princess of Plunder. “Me, sir? Common?” he repeated, making it a rhetorical question. “On the contrary. I am a criminal genius. For only a genius could have realized precisely how the plan in which you are playing so pivotal a part can be employed to generate an even more colossal cache of illicit income. Catwoman, kindly hand me that control.”

“Let him have it, Pengy Sweet,” she purred encouragingly, extending the requested control. “Make him pay for ruffling your feathers. Your subtle efforts were always part of my plan.”

“You are the one responsible for my kidnapping?” the diplomat demanded, staring fearfully at Catwoman.

“Of course,” she said. “My plan requires a coconspirator on the inside and you, lucky boy, were available. Now, you’ve already experienced our technique of gentle purr-suasion. Rest assured, more brutal methods will be available if Pengy fails. Of course, I understand his track record with his Penguin Box is purr-fect, so my cat-o-nine tails is unlikely to caress your flesh any time soon.”

“The most potentially profitable use of my Penguin Box was to place a spy inside the organizational network of benevolent millionaires who hold an Annual Awards Dinner for a worthy charity they select. I was able to make off with every last cent.”

“Pengy, please do stop bragging and get on with it,” Catwoman said with a mixture of boredom and exasperation. “Everybody knows your girl suffered an attack of conscience right before Batman and Robin caught you at your hideout. Now, Mr. Chekov is all yours.”

“Thank you, Catwoman,” Penguin said acidly. “Wak, wak, wak! Now then, you are indeed mine Comrade Chekov!” He turned his attention from his partner to the prisoner. He pressed a button on a control which resembled a penguin, as Catwoman watched with narrowed eyes.

The prisoner in the Penguin Box twitched violently as smoke billowed upward around his neck. After a few moments of this treatment, the Penguin spun a dial on the side of the box, causing his captive to relax, exhaling.

“That was pretty spectacular, Pengy,” Whiskers complimented.

“Did you brainwash him?” Mittens inquired.

“I’ve rendered his mind receptive to my commands. Wak, wak, wak! I can order him to do almost anything, and questioning him will be like browsing through the library of information stored in his mind. He is powerless to deny me anything . . . and he called me a common criminal! Wak, wak, wak! I am the Penguin—infamous internationally!”

“You sound quite pompous when you puff yourself up like that, Pengy!” Catwoman snapped. Then she stopped short. “Say, why didn’t you use this thing on that geophysicist . . . or, for that matter, on Batman and Robin?”

“Unfortunately, I've discovered it only works on those over sixty years of age or on people with weak willpower. Whatever we might think of the Dynamic Duffers, they don’t qualify on either count.”

“Oh,” Catwoman replied, her curiosity satisfied. Then she remembered being exasperated with her overly-proud partner. “Well, anyway, Penguin, take a big gulp of your super-criminal pride and get on with your job!”

Penguin spun toward her as she got to her feet, putting her hands on her shapely hips. “Catwoman–”

“What?” she leaned forward, looking down at him as she awaited his challenge.

Penguin stopped and retreated a step. “Wak! You’re right. We’re wasting time.” He returned his attention to the prisoner and took up his control.

“First, you will forget everything that has led to this encounter as well as it’s details,” Penguin ordered. He tapped a button on his control that made a sound like a duck call. “Do you understand?” The duck call sounded again.

“I understand.”

Whiskers and Mittens glanced at one another again, shrugging.

“Tell me about Bessarovian artifacts that bestow royal station upon their possessors,” the Penguin commanded, reinforcing his will with the sound of the duck call.

“Traditionally, my country’s ruler possesses the Samovar of Genghis Kahn. In the past, many who wished to rule would steal it to bolster their claim to power. This thievery became such a problem that the Samovar was brought here to Gotham City for safekeeping. That policy failed when Olga, Queen of the Cossacks, and her American consort, the super-criminal Egghead, stole it. So, the Samovar was taken back to Bessarovia, where loyal guards have pledged their lives to its protection.”

“Pengy, I think we’d like to hear about an artifact located closer to home here in Gotham City,” Catwoman said, sinking back onto her love seat and curling up to observe the interrogation. “While stealing the Samovar of Genghis Kahn from Bessarovia would not be impossible–”

“Right! Wak! Are any artifacts that bestow royal station still here in Gotham City?”

The prisoner hesitated until the duck call sounded again. Then, with an anguished expression on his face, but no power to stop himself, the Bessarovian bureaucrat continued. “The solid gold Egg of Ogg and the Silver Scimitar of Taras Bul Bul were once displayed at the Gotham City Museum. Egghead and Olga, Queen of the Cossacks, stole them and Olga somehow extracted the Scimitar from its place in the Egg.”

“What happened to the artifacts after the thieves were apprehended? Wak!” Penguin tapped the button that sounded the duck call once again.

“The Egg is on display at the museum once again. According to tradition, any woman who can pull the Scimitar from the Egg is the true Queen of the Bessarovian Cossacks. Further, if such a Cossack Queen is then installed in the traditional ceremony by a representative of the Bessarovian government who is not himself a Cossack, she becomes Queen of the entire country.”

“Those items sound purr-fect.”

“Indeed they do, Catwoman.” Penguin sounded the call again. “Where is the Silver Scimitar of Taras Bul Bul?”

The Bessarovian prisoner’s voice became very soft as he answered. “The Silver Scimitar of Taras Bul Bul is being kept at the Bessarovian Embassy to protect it from criminals, both foreign and domestic.”

“Good,” Penguin said. “You will now discuss the security systems at the Bessarovian Embassy. I know they’ve been kept up to date. You will leave nothing out of your discussion.” The duck call sounded several times and the imprisoned official’s words gushed forth, as though a floodgate had opened. When the prisoner had finished, Penguin turned triumphantly to Catwoman. “I think that about covers it. Wak, wak, wak!”

“Purr-fectly, Penguin. I have to admit, you were brilliant.”

“Of course I was. Wak! Now, with the information we’ve extracted from our brainwashed Bessarovian and Batgirl out of the way–”

“We’ll be unstoppable,” Catwoman purred as she stretched luxuriantly.

“Precisely. Wak! You can have your kittens release him at their leisure. We’re finished here.”

A knock sounded at the door. “Pengy,” Undine asked, “do you need me for anything else?”

“Why don’t we discuss that over breakfast, my dear. Wak, wak, wak!” Penguin turned to Catwoman. “You can manage here?”

“Purr-fectly. We’ll finalize our plans this afternoon and carry them out tonight. By this time tomorrow, we’ll have achieved everything our client expects and be poised to do the rest.” She laughed delightedly and waved dismissively at Pengin. “Enjoy your . . . breakfast.”

“Quite!” Penguin said, passing through the door with a jaunty spring in his step.

“I guess we turn this thing off before we take lover boy out of it,” Whiskers said.

“Do you know how it works?” Mittens asked.

“Wait!” Catwoman commanded, standing. The hench-kittens halted their plans to free the captive and returned to watching what happened to him, though now that their mistress was directing the proceedings, they seemed to regard the events with considerably more interest.

The Princess of Plunder moved to lean against the side of the machine so that her lips were less than an inch from her victim’s ear as she spoke. “Meeeeoooow,” she said slowly. “Vladimir Pavel Chekov, you have just been questioned by the Penguin, your master, about certain Bessarovian artifacts which will convey royal power to their possessors following a traditional ceremony. Is that true? Meow.”

“Yes,” the prisoner said.

“Good. Meow. As of now, you work for me, Catwoman, and not the Penguin. Do you understand? Meow!”

“I understand.”

“Good. Meow! How do you properly address me?”

“You are my mistress, Mistress.”

“Good. Meow! Tell me what you will do for your mistress.”

“I will do whatever She commands—whatever you command, Mistress Catwoman!”

“Purr-fect! Meow! First, you will obey Penguin as you would me, unless I countermand his instructions! Do you understand? Meow!”

“I understand, Mistress Catwoman.”

“Good. Now here are your other instructions. You will forget them until I give you the signal to remember. Then, you will carry them out to purr-fection.” Catwoman went on speaking for several minutes. “Now, my kittens will take you to bed where you will sleep. Go with them. Meow!” Catwoman straightened and turned off the Penguin Box so that her hench-kittens could help its occupant to his feet, dress him in the robe once again, and lead him away.

Tabitha was with them when they returned. “He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow,” she reported.

“Purr-fect, kittens. My plans are proceeding splendidly.”

“What are you planning?” Whiskers asked. “You were the one engaged to steal those Bessarovian treasures. We could have done it on our own. Why did you really involve the Penguin?”

“I purr-suaded Penguin to join us on this deal to divert suspicion if anything goes wrong. I’ve even turned over the task of being in touch with our client to him. There is a very pretty prize at the end of the road Penguin has chosen to follow and, as long as he doesn’t screw up, he will have earned it,” Catwoman purred.

“Aren’t you worried about what he might be up to?” Tabitha asked.

"You’re right, there is no honor among thieves, kittens,” the leggy blonde villainess concurred, “and Pengy doesn’t trust me, either. Fortunately, he’s too busy with Undine to be too concerned about us just now.” The Feline Fiend laughed.

“No wonder we snatched her from the zoo before we arranged Penguin’s escape,” Whiskers said. “She gives us a free hand to play."

“I’m not surprised,” Mittens remarked, smirking. “Undine is gorgeous. One thing I don’t get, though, is why you meowed so often while you were re-brainwashing the prisoner.”

“For the same reason Penguin used that silly penguin call of his,” Catwoman explained. “My meows will focus the captive’s mind and can be used later to trigger his post-hypnotic instructions.”

“So,” Tabitha asked, “you plan to steal those Bessarovian artifacts in Gotham City that convey royal power?”

“You are quite purr-ceptive, Tabitha.”

“What good will these artifacts do us?” the taller blonde demanded.

“They will let Mr. Chekov purr-form the ceremony of royal ascension, but not for our client.”

“Yet another reason to stick Penguin with the job of dealing with the client,” the shorter blonde said. “Smart.”

Tabitha guessed whom Catwoman had in mind to ascend. “What do you plan to do once you’ve become the Queen of Bessarovia?” the ex-exotic dancer asked.

“Once I rule Bessarovia, the world will be within my grasp.”

“The entire world?” Mittens asked, awestruck. “You really think big, boss!”

“Why not? With my record, the potential prison term is almost the same if I try to take over the world or knock over a hotdog stand. I’d rather have our crimes pay us handsomely, because they can—and will!”

“What about the Penguin?” Whiskers asked.

“We shall see. He can share in the spoils, or be cast aside. That depends on how he behaves.”

“What will you do if anyone interferes with your plans?” Tabitha asked.

Catwoman wiggled her head back and forth as she spoke. “To just whom are you referring?”

“Batman and Robin,” Mittens suggested.

“Or Batwoman and Flamebird,” Whiskers added.

“Pengy can be relied upon to help eliminate the Dynamic or Distaff Duos, if one or both swoop in on our plans. When we’ve finished with them, they can say hello to Batgirl at the great scratching post in the sky.” Any romantic designs Catwoman might have on the Caped Crusader were not to be shared with the hired help. She threw her head back and laughed until her kittens joined in the merriment.

Barbara Gordon felt immensely better when she awoke. Her ordeal in the hidden catacombs beneath Gotham City; her subsequent, torturous bondage; the fight at the lecture hall; the pitched battles with the finks and hench-kittens at the balloon factory; and her ordeal aboard the balloon had taken a lot out of her and the injuries had compounded the problems her fatigue had caused. She soaked for an hour in a luxurious, steamy bath and considered the case. She had stretched and finished cleaning up before changing the few bandages her injuries still required and slipped into a robe to sit at her computer.

Barbara had to admit she was pleased to be going after Penguin and Catwoman without help, so she would have a chance to dole out some of her unique brand of payback while bringing them to justice. She had taken the trouble to establish the reputation of a crimefighter willing and able to exact her own nasty brand of vengeance against criminals every once in a while. The capture of Penguin and Catwoman would be an excellent opportunity to bolster that reputation and indulge her mean streak.

At the same time, she was well aware of the dangers her task presented. She had survived one very close call already and had to believe the crooks would be well prepared for Batman, Robin, Batwoman, and Flamebird. She had no illusions about how easy it would be for her to end up taking their places in yet another ridiculous; terribly elaborate; over-complicated; yet cunningly deadly, contraption.

To stay alive and thwart the crooks’ plans, she would have to guess at what they were scheming. She knew the Bessarovian Deputy Undersecretary of International Affairs was the key to Penguin and Catwoman‘s plot. The internet would, it was likely, tell her more than she wanted to know about Bessarovian items around town in which the criminals might be interested.

That night, while Barbara completed her research and sent an e-mail to the police as Batgirl to reveal her findings, a feathered fiend was one of four figures paying an after-hours visit to the Gotham City Museum. They quietly moved through the exhibits and waited in a darkened corridor as voices drifted from inside a secure chamber.

“How come we have to keep a guard on this thing all the time?” a young guard asked.

“Because, kid, if anyone walked off with that piece, we’d have an international incident on our hands. Neither of us wants that, you know?”

“Whatever. That thing is pretty heavy. Who in their right mind would want to pick it up and walk out of here?”

“Egghead stole and carried it out all by himself the last time it went missing.”

“I guess that just shows you how smart he really is.”

“Right,” the older man said, not really knowing or caring what the young man meant. “Just wait here until I get back from my break.”

“Whatever.”

“Trainees,” the older guard muttered under his breath as he walked from the chamber. Suddenly, he noticed a movement and slowed to turn and spot a rotund figure retreating around the corner at the end of another corridor. “Hold it, you!” the guard said. He ran in pursuit.

As the guard turned the far corner, he was surprised to see a well-dressed man leaning against the wall, tranquilly smoking, using a cigarette holder. “What is the meaning of this?” the guard demanded.

“Fine day for penguins,” the Penguin said.

“What?” the surprised guard asked. Before he could pursue his inquiry further, finks grabbed him from behind, covered his mouth, and subdued him quietly.

“Wak! Well done, my fine finny finks. Now, tie him up and we’ll take care of his junior partner.” The Penguin waddled down the corridor and kept watch until his finks joined him. “Right,” he said. “Get that key and follow me.”

The three finks followed the Penguin to the special room in which the Egg of Ogg was displayed. “You want us to beat up the guard in there too, boss?” Seahawk asked.

“No, you simpleton of a sycophant,” Penguin said, conking the fink on the head with his umbrella. “Just grab him and bring him to me.”

“Right,” Falcon said. He and Seahawk entered the room and seized the young guard, dragging him to their master. Penguin aimed the tip of his umbrella at the man’s nose and smiled as a plume of gas billowed at the guard. The hapless employee slumped unconscious in the finks’ arms.

“Raven, open the window and signal Undine,” Penguin commanded. “Falcon, give me the key. Seahawk, get rid of that guard.”

“We could toss him out the window, boss,” Falcon offered.

“Don’t be an idiot! Wak, wak, wak! We’ve taken adequate care of him already. Put him with the other one.”

“Boss, how come Undine is involved in this caper?” Raven asked.

“She’s smart enough to guess at some of my plans and offered me a very generous proposition. You could say our negotiations were quite intense. Wak, wak, wak!” As Penguin responded to his finks’ questions, he inserted a key into a lock on the pedestal beneath the Egg of Ogg and turned it. A click sounded. “Capital. I’ve just deactivated the extra security measures taken to protect this item. Wak! Now, my finks, we’ll remove the case.” Penguin and each fink took a corner of the glass case and lifted when the leader nodded. Once they had lifted the case above the display, they set it aside carefully.

“Now, pick up that solid gold egg.” As Penguin spoke, he moved to the window to be certain Undine had followed his instructions. “Wak! Beautiful. Now toss it out the window into the net waiting below.” Between the four men, they managed to easily carry the artifact across the room and drop it into the net.

“Now what do we do, boss?” Falcon asked.

“Jump out the window and into the net. Wak”

Once his men had dropped into the net, Penguin followed, using his open umbrella to slow his descent. Undine pulled away from the museum seconds after Penguin hit the net. At the first traffic light, the wily bird slid from the back of the getaway truck and joined its decorative driver in the cab.

“Where to, Pengy?” Undine asked.

“The Bessarovian Embassy, my dear. My plans are nearly complete. In accordance with the arrangements you made this morning, Catwoman is greeting our client. When we finish this job, I’ll have the most devious dividend I’ve achieved in the course of my criminal career — diplomatic immunity from prosecution, for everything. Wak, wak, wak! Do you understand what that means, Undine?”

“You’ll be able to do anything you want?”

“Oh, I can already do that and to whomever I please. The difference, my unscrupulous Undine, is that with diplomatic immunity, nobody, not even Batman, can do anything to me no matter what I do — ever! Wak, wak, wak!”

“You’ll be untouchable!” Undine enthused.

Penguin turned and favored her with a crooked smile. “Only in a legal sense, my dear. Wak!”

Undine giggled, smiling.

Meanwhile, at Catwoman and Penguin’s nest, perched atop a cliff, a devilish delivery originating from foreign shores arrived in a fleet of trucks.

“Get the door,” Catwoman ordered. Purdy returned with a man in a brown uniform. “Well?” Catwoman asked of him.

“I have a delivery for the lady of the house. Payment is required.”

“I see. How much?”

The man handed a clipboard bearing an eye-popping figure to her. “I can take cash, check or credit card.”

“And what if I said you can take a hike?”

“Then I’ll take the stuff and leave.”

“I’ll tell you what. You can leave or stay, but you won’t be getting a cent.”

“If I leave, the merchandise comes with me,” the man said firmly.

“Well, I’d better invite you to stay, then. Kittens, detain him!”

“Wait a minute! You’re Catwoman! I’m getting out of here!” The man spun toward the front door and found Mittens, Tabitha, Pussy, and Boots barring the way. He tried to rush through them, but felt hands restrain and pull him backwards. “Help!” He felt something pressed against his nose and mouth and could not help inhaling the noxious vapors rising from it. ‘I’m being chloroformed!’

Moments later, the unconscious man was being efficiently hogtied and carried away across Tabitha’s shoulders.

“What was that all about?” Vladimir Pavel Chekov, the Bessarovian Deputy Undersecretary of International Affairs asked, when Whiskers led him into the room.

“Our client just arrived with a rather impressive entourage,” Catwoman explained.

“Someone hired you and Penguin to kidnap me?”

“Our employer thinks so,” Catwoman confirmed. “Pengy and I are going to have to have a discussion about my being stuck with the bill for this delivery, but let’s have a look at my erstwhile employer, shall we?” Catwoman led the way outside with a playful chuckle, followed by the diplomat and most of her hench-kittens.

The Princess of Plunder approached a trailer with a red star on its door and knocked.

Seconds later, a regal woman with red hair arranged intricately beneath a jeweled crown; a golden dress with white and black fur trim along the bust line; and a crimson skirt that hung over her golden leggings emerged from the vehicle. A sword hung at her side from her belt. The woman’s gaze swept the scene around her briefly. before she addressed Catwoman. “You are Catwoman? Lately, I been dealink with Bird Brain. Where is Bird Brain?”

“Hello to you, too,” Pussy muttered under her breath. “Thank you for smuggling me into the country.”

Vladimir Pavel Chekov’s face paled as he watched the women talk. “Oh, no! Not her! Not Olga, Queen of the Cossacks!” he fearfully said. Then his face clouded with anger. “She is only held in high regard by the Cossacks because she was born seconds ahead of Zelda, her twin sister. That noble woman developed a stage act as an escape artist with which Olga was, for a time, an invaluable help. Zelda made a bad choice and Batman led her to the means to set that awful situation right. Now, she makes an honest living as the “Resident Lady Magician” at the Wayne Foundation’s Children’s Hospitals. It’s no wonder she is called Zelda ‘the Great.’”

“What happened to Olga?” Whiskers asked Chekov.

“She left her sister’s act and became a dishwasher at a run-down, Bessarovian restaurant, where Egghead, the arch criminal, found her,” the Deputy Undersecretary explained. “The rest is history. Olga is crazy and will stop at nothing in her quest for power.”

Olga, Queen of the Cossacks, remained riveted on Catwoman, ignoring Whiskers and Chekov’s quiet conversation. “I asked you, where is Bird Brain?”

Catwoman folded her arms. “If by Bird Brain you mean Penguin, he sent us to escort you to the planned event while he attended to the final details purr-sonally. That is, of course, assuming you really are Olga, Queen of all Bessarovian Cossacks and you are prepared to fulfill your end of our bargain.”

“Da!” Olga said, confirming her identity. She clapped her hands to summon a dozen swordsman and horses from the other trucks and trailers parked on the mansion grounds. “You will take us now?” The swordsmen mounted their horses.

“As soon as we get the balance of our money,” Catwoman said.

“Money? You wish me to pay you when I been dealink with Bird Brain?”

“Categorically! The Penguin was my agent in this transaction.” Olga blinked and appeared to be about to speak, but Catwoman went on, “Now, you listen to me. You contacted me and asked me to bring you here and set you up on the Bessarovian throne. The means to that end were conceived and purr-petrated by Catwoman. Penguin, or Bird Brain, as you so aptly call him, may have had a small role, but the plan was mine! Got it?”

“Ha ha! Maybe I have Cossacks cut you all to shredskis,” Olga threatened, pulling out and brandishing her sword. “My Cossacks waited years for another traditional Sabre Dance. We keep frosted swords on hand at all times, just in case,” Olga said. An evil twinkle came into her eyes as she glared at the taller woman. “That is how you say, ‘just in case?’ Yes? With long legs, you look like you be very good dancer--”

At first, the confident crime queen didn’t seem to notice or care her handful of young women were facing twelve sword-wielding Cossacks. She then let her hands settle onto her shapely hips. “This lofty hideaway is very well defended. Look.” Catwoman’s backward glance coincided with the opening of shutters of an upper floor window. Purdy and Tabitha appeared and aimed mounted machine guns at the Terrible Tartan and her sword-wielding sycophant.

Olga’s eyes widened in horror as Catwoman smiled.

“After you and your forces are shot to pieces, whatever may be left of you will disappear forever over our conveniently-situated cliff. Unless you’re dying to take your people on a one-way trip to the bottom of the Atlantic, I think you’ll agree I’m in the catbird seat.”

Olga looked at the armed kittens, her Cossacks, and Catwoman before nodding. “Da,” she said. “You win.”

Catwoman sighed and let her hands fall to her sides. “Olga, listen. We didn’t bring you all this way to fight. If you complete your end of our deal, I’m prepared to go through with our part . . . or you can go back to Bessarovia. Choosing to attack me, however, would be profoundly unwise!”

Olga decided fighting a machine gun with swords wouldn’t get her any closer to the throne, to say the least. She returned her sword to its scabbard and clapped her hands. Two burly Cossacks dismounted and retrieved a large chest from one of the trucks. Jewels glittered inside the chest once it was opened. Catwoman and her hench-kittens stared, spellbound at the cache of loot being offered for their services. “You accept, Catwoman?”

The sight was breathtaking. “Kittens,” Catwoman said, exhaling, “take our payment inside and have the others get ready to go.” She returned her gaze to the Tremendous-looking Tartan and licked her lips. “Olga, the balance of your payment is purr-fectly acceptable. Thank you.”

Catwoman had had experience with historical treasures. The legendary treasure of Captain Manx had financed her recovery from injuries she sustained acquiring it. As she had healed, she had used Lisa Carson’s body while embarking on her plan to kidnap the entire United World Organization’s Security Council. Penguin, Joker, and Riddler had helped with that caper, but Catwoman wondered if bringing Egghead into that scheme would have worked out better. Regardless, the treasure her hench-kittens were hauling away for her was ten times more fabulous.

“Very well,” Olga said. She patted her sword and quietly said to the two Cossacks still at her side, “Perhaps she be do-ink Sabre Dance – later.”

“All right, Olga. We’re ready when you are,” Catwoman said. “Let’s go!”

“You take me to Bird Brain now?”

“Indeed,” Catwoman said.

“Yes,” Olga enthused. “Now, my Cossacks, we ride!” One Cossack mounted his horse as Olga swung into the saddle of a horse led forward for her by the other. The Cossack Queen thrust her fist into the air.

“Olga,” Catwoman called, “with all due respect, horses are not necessary. Penguin and I have arranged transportation for you and your Cossacks.” Raising an arm, Catwoman signaled Tabitha to approach in a truck.

“Is ancient Bessarovian tradition,” the royal rogue explained. “Cossacks ride horses. Others ride burros.”

“My kittens and I will ride in the transport we arranged. You may be able to make Egghead ride an animal who moves slower than a walking human, but my people and I will not.”

Olga decided the point was not worth contesting. Regardless, the henchwomen piled into the truck as Cossacks began to bellow and pound their chests. “Vlozhky! Vlozhky! Vlozhky! Hie! Hie! Vlozhky!”

“Must they do that?” Catwoman complained as she moved toward the Kitty Car, where Purdy waited behind the wheel. “I’m getting a headache.”

“Is ‘nother ancient Bessarovian tradition.”

“We’re disregarding the one about travel by burro.”

Olga shrugged. “You neither Bessarovian, nor engaged to marry Queen. So, ancient tradition not apply to you. My Cossacks Bessarovian and believe in tradition. They celebrate my return to power. Come. We ride!”

Catwoman, giving up, looked heavenward, before climbing into her vehicle. “Let the others go first," the Feline Felon commanded as the engine began to purr. Purdy nodded without comment.

Tabitha pulled the truck into the lead and the horses began to follow as Cossacks continued enthusiastically bellowing.

Catwoman pulled out her cell phone and dialed. “I’d like to speak to Ms. Lisa Carson please,” she said

“Penguin acted even more quickly than we feared he would,” Commissioner Gordon said. Just then, the telephone interrupted him.

“Sure an’ he did,” Chief O’Hara agreed.

“The Egg of Ogg,” Batgirl said. “If you’ll recall, it was once on display with the Silver Scimitar of Taras Bul Bul.”

The Chief of Gotham City’s police snapped his fingers. “The Scimitar is the only item in Gotham City whose possessor will be obeyed by the Bessarovian Cossacks . . . but why would Catwoman and Penguin want Bessarovian Cossacks to obey them?” Chief O’Hara asked.

“Well, the Cossacks are a cut above your typical henchman,” Batgirl responded, remembering her pitched battles with the wild band.

Commissioner Gordon hung up the phone and sank into his chair exhaling. “I have dire news. Interpol has lost track of Olga. After being deported from here and exiled from her homeland, she was being passed among the nations neighboring Bessarovia who wanted to hold her responsible for her Cossacks’ crimes. Last week, a judge in Samarkand released her.”

“Why would any judge in the world do that?” Chief O’Hara demanded.

“Olga could offer a lot to a corrupt official,” Batgirl hypothesized, “but why is Olga’s disappearance so ominous, Commissioner?”

“She seemed to be making her way west. I don’t want to seem like an alarmist, but I’ve had a scary thought.”

“You don’t mean . . . ?” Chief O’Hara began.

“. . . Penguin, Catwoman, and Olga, combining their criminal forces!” Batgirl concluded.

“The sum of the angles in that triangle is too monstrous to contemplate,” the Commissioner said.

“Okay,” Batgirl said, “our theory fits with Catwoman and Penguin kidnapping the Bessarovian official. The question is: what did he know or could he do that the crooks didn’t or couldn’t?”

“Huh?” O’Hara asked, now totally lost.

“Well, Chief, as far as we know, they haven’t tried to ransom him to Bessarovia,” Batgirl replied.

“Would Bessarovia consider such a demand?” Commissioner Gordon asked. “Most of the nations of the world have a policy against paying ransom for hostages.”

“Catwoman and Penguin are both smart enough to know that,” Batgirl said.

The phone interrupted the train of thought everyone in the room was following. “Yes, Bonnie,” the Commissioner said. He listened and resolutely set down the phone. “The Kitty Car has been spotted leading a truck and an armed group of Cossacks on horseback. Their leader was a woman, also on a horse, dressed like a queen. They’re in a part of town in which the only target of interest to criminals would seem to be – the Bessarovian Embassy!”

“Saints preserve us! It’s Olga. We were right!”

“There’s something else!” Batgirl said, her voice reflecting intensity and excitement. “The Silver Scimitar of Taras Bul Bul is in the vault at the Embassy for safekeeping. The crooks might well be after that priceless treasure and the power it could bestow. There’s no telling what they could demand of Bessarovia for the artifacts’ safe return . . . and Olga’s presence suggests several other sinister possible uses for them!”

“Begorra!”

“Good thinking, Batgirl.”

“Thanks, Commissioner,” Batgirl said. “I’d better get there fast!” She spun and ran through the double doors of the office, her cape billowing behind her.

“She’s a treasure, Commissioner,” Chief O’Hara said.

“I’ll say it once and I’ll say it again, Chief. Gotham City is lucky to have her.”

“But, Commissioner . . .”

“Yes, Chief?”

“Well, as remarkable as she is, she is only one person. She’s running off to face Olga; who knows how many Cossacks; probably Penguin and his henchmen; as well as Catwoman and her girl gang!“

“Great Scott, Chief, you’re right! Get some of your force down there immediately, but on silent approach!”

As Chief O’Hara moved for the door, the Commissioner got up and headed for the Hotline. “I’ll see if I can get her some other help as well.”

“I’m afraid both he and Robin are involved in a case, sir,” Alfred, Bruce Wayne’s faithful butler, apologetically explained when he picked up the red telephone in his employer’s study.

“I understand," the Commissioner said. “I hope Batman will be sticking with what he’s doing. Thank you.” He crossed his office and pulled the purple cell phone bearing a bat symbol from its place in the drawer.

As the Commissioner pursued other reinforcements for Batgirl, the Dynamic Duo crouched in the darkness on a rooftop across the street from the Gotham City Art Museum. “I appreciate you asking me along, Batman,” Robin said. “I haven’t been on a stakeout in months, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted me along to keep you company.”

“We haven’t been here that long,” Batman replied.

“It’s almost midnight and the museum opens late tomorrow.”

“We’ll pack it in after a few hours, unless something happens.” Batman waited for his partner to reply. After a silent moment, he glanced at Robin, who had cocked his ear toward the sky. “Do you hear something?” the Caped Crusader inqured.

“It’s very soft,” Robin said, holding a gloved finger to his lips. “It sounds like . . . buzzing.”

As Batman listened, a low, motorized sound became audible. ”You’re right. It sounds . . . vaguely . . . like . . . a swarm.”

“Holy Unconventional Means of Transportation!” Robin exclaimed, pointing at the sky. “Look at that!” The sound came from five, one-man aircrafts descending from the heavens and enabling their riders to gently land on the museum’s roof. The young Titan had seen nothing like it since Penguin, Joker, Riddler, and their piratical henchmen had used jet pack umbrellas to kidnap Bruce Wayne and Catwoman, disguised as the Russian journalist, Miss Kitka. He stood, preparing his Batrope.

Batman reached for a pair of binoculars at his hip. “For now, I think it’s a good idea to just look, old chum. I don’t recognize those figures and it may be better to learn more before we confront them.”

“Don’t you think they’re after the ancient Chinese treasures going on display tomorrow?”

“Probably,” Batman answered. The figures had abandoned their aircrafts and moved to one side of the building. They began descending without the aide of ropes. “Let’s get to that roof. They’ll be inside by the time we get there and I know of no villain who employs such potentially dangerous climbing techniques.”

‘Leave it to Batman to warn villains about risking their lives in the course of committing their crimes and trying to kill us,’ Robin thought. Aloud he said, “I’m with you, Batman.”

Soon, the Dynamic Duo peered carefully over the side of the building the figures had descended. Nothing moved against the wall in the shadows beneath them. “We’ll have to go after them,” Robin observed.

“Right, Robin. I still have no idea with whom we’re dealing. Caution must be our watchword.”

The Dynamic Duo reverse Batclimbed in pursuit until Robin pointed at a handprint above an open window. “What’s that?”

Batman moved closer to the handprint and pulled a swab from his utility belt. He took a sample of the substance and dropped it into a specimen bag. “It’s sticky.”

“There’s more over here,” Robin reported. “It smells distinctive. Almost like . . . .”

“What?”

“I’m going to take a small taste. I know it’s risky, but we may learn something important.”

“Let me,” Batman said. “You’re right about the smell. I can’t quite put my finger on the odor.” He reached the tip of his glove into the handprint and touched his tongue to his gloved fingertip. “It’s sweet . . . like . . . nectar, or perhaps something . . . else . . . .”

“I’d say they went through this window.”

“Come on. Let’s follow them.”

Batman and Robin slipped silently through the window and moved toward the new, Oriental exhibit. Batman raised a hand just outside the exhibit chamber, where four men dressed in black shorts and tightly-fitting shirts bearing wide, horizontal, black and yellow stripes carefully emptied the cases into well-padded loot bags. Another figure, a blonde woman, was crouched beside the last case, the largest. A necklace hung at her throat and a sheer, black cape was draped over her otherwise bare shoulders. Her matching dress showcased her proportional figure magnificently, descending from the swell of her barely restrained breasts, falling over her abdomen and hips before descending to her ankles. As she straightened, her polished shoes and yellow nylons became visible through the twin slits in the sides of the dress.

Opening the case, the woman stepped back and let her hands settle on her hips. “We’ve done it!” she enthused as her men approached and began to empty the case. “I knew this stuff would be simple enough to snatch. Think of how rich we’ll have made the HIVE after tonight, boys, and this little job is just the beginning.” The thieves all laughed.

Robin jerked his head toward the criminals and Batman nodded.

“Whoever you are, we’ve caught you red-handed!” Batman authoritatively announced.

“I’d advise all of you to surrender immediately,” Robin said.

The woman whirled and regarded the crimefighters coolly with her arms falling to her sides and her back to the window overlooking the neon panorama defining Gotham City at night. Her men set their now-full loot bags aside. ”So,” she said, “the famous Dynamic Duo has arrived at the last possible minute to thwart my plans. The buzz about Gotham’s crimefighters must really be true.”

“You have us at a disadvantage, miss,” Batman said.

“Indeed,” the woman agreed. “My drones do outnumber the two of you. Boys, it’s time these heroes felt the Honey Bee’s sting. Get them!” The villainess stepped back, out of the battle zone and folded her arms as her men advanced on the Dynamic Duo.

Robin stepped behind his mentor and turned around to face the men surrounding both of them. The thugs were big and strong, but overconfident, apparently being used to simply wading in and overwhelming their opponents through sheer power. Batman and Robin were quite experienced in combat of this sort. Together, their teamwork and fast-moving tactics dispatched the four thugs in a matter of minutes. The exhibit room, however, with the exception of the large case behind Honey Bee, was reduced to tiny, shattered glass fragments that littered the floor along with the thugs as the Dynamic Duo shook hands when the fight had ended.

“Very impressive,” Honey Bee complimented as the heroes faced her following the fight.“Those were picked men. I’ll have to pick more the next time I face your ilk.”

“You were expecting us?” Robin asked.

“Your skills are quite legendary and, having personally seen you in action, I can say you aren’t over-rated at all.” As Honey Bee spoke, she moved her hands to her hips, regarding them thoughtfully. Robin silently noted her fingertips’ closeness to the slits at the sides of her dress as she shifted her weight.

“You’re very kind in defeat, Honey Bee,” Batman said. “Please raise your hands.”

“Of course,” she said. Batman stepped forward, extending Bat-cuffs toward her bare wrists. Robin wondered if the movements of Honey Bee’s hips were as casual as they had initially seemed when he spotted a belt around the villainess’ waist beneath her dress. Honey Bee drew her hands together before her waist and began to raise them. “In fairness,” she went on, “I should probably warn you I’m far from defeated.”

Robin’s mind raced to interpret his observations and Honey Bee’s words. ‘She must have taken something from her belt!’ he thought. Robin warned, “She’s up to something, Batman! Look out!”

The warning was, of course, too late. As Honey Bee spoke, she turned her head and flung a small amount of powder from each bare hand and laughed. The Dynamic Duo could not help but inhale some of the falling powder and retreated a step, coughing.

“Holy Turnabout!” the Twentysomething Wonder exclaimed. “What did she do to us?” Robin sneezed and bent, convulsing, struggling to retain his balance.

“I don’t know,” Batman said, sneezing and feeling his own balance falter. “This sickly, sweet smell is overwhelming.”

“You’ve both inhaled a bit of my perfumed pollen,” the villainess explained, smiling, stepping forward, and letting her arms fall to her sides again. “Its irresistible aroma is attacking your equilibrium already and will have rendered you utterly helpless in a few more seconds.”

Batman and Robin struggled to maintain their balance for a moment before collapsing at Honey Bee’s feet. Moments later, her damaged drones stood regarding at the defeated Dynamic Duo, admiring their leader’s handiwork, and grinning vengefully.

“I think you boys will agree the treasures we came for have been successfully secured for the HIVE.” Honey Bee glanced at the caped warriors. “It is also worth pointing out how easily I dealt with all opposition.

“What will you do with them now?” one of the drones eagerly asked, indicating the helpless opposition and rubbing a visible bruise.

“I think we’ll leave them here, as a calling card,” Honey Bee decided, chuckling. “While I get the lights, pull the shelves from this case and pose Batman and Robin inside. Use the wax to see they hold their positions. Oh, I want them to look very heroic.” She glanced at the captives and the men lifted them. “Try and smile, Batman and Robin, Gotham City and the world will long remember your ultimate defeat and how Honey Bee brought it about.”

Presently, Batman and Robin stood in the display case with their hands stuck to their hips and their boots stuck to the base of the case with wax.

“Boss,” one of the drones reported. “We’ll need a lot more to encase their bodies completely.”

“Oh?” Honey Bee inquired. “I believe others have made serious attempts at sealing the Dynamic Duo in wax with more elaborate and expensive equipment than we have available here right now. Use the rest of what we have to seal their toys in their belts and render this display case airtight.”

As Honey Bee’s drones obeyed, Batman recalled how the Riddler had tried to dip him and Robin into boiling wax to transform them into life-sized wax figures, and Robin recalled how the Joker had sealed him in a spray wax chamber where the pores of his skin had all been slowly filled.

“Now, we’ll seal their tomb and leave them to asphyxiate,” another drone said with a laugh, stepping back once the wicked work was done.

“No,” Honey Bee disagreed, pulling a thick candle from the belt beneath her dress. “Simply leaving the Dynamic Duo asphyxiating would never do. I envision their bodies as a calling card and their end as a real triumph for the HIVE.” She placed the candle on the floor of the case between her captives.

“You’ve obviously devised something special for us,” Batman observed.

“Indeed I have,” Honey Bee happily replied. ”The smoke this candle will release as it burns is unique. As you no doubt know, wax is produced in human ears as a defense mechanism. Also, the ears and throat are connected.”

“We’re all aware of basic human anatomy, Honey Bee!” Robin said.

“Splendid,” Honey Bee enthused. “My special candle’s smoke will induce a dramatic increase in the production of ear wax for both of you. Given the layout of human anatomy, gravity will drain the excess wax down to your throats and subsequently into your esophagus and trachea.”

“Into our stomachs and lungs respectively,” Batman said.

"Precisely, Batman,” the villainess confirmed. “These organs will slowly fill and then burst, killing you.”

“Holy Madame Tousseau!” Robin exclaimed. “That’s diabolical!”

“Thank you, Boy Wonder,” Honey Bee said. “Your demise is just the beginning. As long as the smoke remains in contact with your flesh, the empty space between your innards will fill with wax until it oozes from every orifice of your bodies, including the pores of your skin. Once you’ve been completely encased, of course, the reaction will cease and the wax can harden, preserving both of you forever as you were in your crimefighting prime.”

“You’re very confident,” Robin said. “Since you’ve left fingerprints all over this crime scene, I suspect you’re overconfident.”

“Not so, Robin,” Honey Bee replied. She let her hand slide slowly along the Boy Wonder’s cheek. It felt cool and smooth. “The thin layer of wax on my hands will leave the authorities quite clueless, I assure you.”

“Nevertheless, Honey Bee, you’ll never get away with killing us,” Batman warned.

“You didn’t know who I was before this encounter, Batman. I’ve come to Gotham City to prove myself to the HIVE. Sealing your fate, literally in wax, will be my crowning achievement.” Honey Bee paused and grinned. “Now, it has famously been said to be better to light a single candle than to curse the darkness.”

“I don’t think you’ve quoted the passage exactly,” Robin said. “You’ve also failed to identify the source.”

“Attribution is critical,” Batman concurred.

Honey Bee ignored the Dynamic Duo, silencing them as she struck a match on Batman’s boot and touched the flame to the candle’s wick. “This candle is tall enough to expose you both to more than enough smoke to accomplish the appointed task,” she enthused. “After the autopsy, scientists will fully understand what I’ve done to both of you, and, once your lungs burst, it will be far too late for anyone to reverse the process--ever.” The villainess laughed, shaking out the match and dropping it to the floor.

“Robin, I suspect this ambitious, young woman is one of several competitors for a leadership position in her ‘HIVE’,” Batman said.

“It would be ironic if an ambitious, new, criminal killed us in our first encounter,” Robin said, coughing.

“We’re certainly facing a unique and singularly deadly situation, Robin.”

“Your determination is admirable, Batman. Had I known you had such spirit, along with your other many attributes, I might have spared you. Robin offered a great deal to the HIVE as well. You see, boys, honey is the best bait for a trap, and with you two out of the way, your female colleagues will be easy prey, when their time comes—which will be very soon.”

“Of course,” Batman said. “Honey Bee’s competitors for ‘HIVE’ leadership may not be impressed unless she defeats a formidable, female rival.”

“Iimpresive deductions, Batman,” Honey Bee complimented. “Of course, confirming or denying their validity would be telling, and I won’t do that. Regardless, I’ve dealt with you two easily enough, and if your lady friends learned their crime fighting techniques from you, disposing of them at our forthcoming encounter should be simplicity itself. I should thank you for allowing me to gather valuable data, but it’s too soon for such analysis. After all, unlike you, I have all the time in the world.” Honey Bee closed the display case and pressed the glass door into the wax her drones had prepared to make the case airtight. “Come, my drones! Don’t forget the loot for which we came.”

“Yes, Robin,” Batman agreed. “There may not be a second to lose if we’re to escape this display case and the waxy fate Honey Bee has arranged for us.”

Batman and Robin could do nothing but stare as Honey Bee paused in the door to watch her drones retreat. She turned to her victims once more, touching her fingertips to her lips to blow them a parting kiss. “Goodbye, Batman and Robin,” she said. “Sweet dreams.” Then, she switched off the lights, turned on her heel to follow her drones, and was gone.

Seconds later, the sinister smoke filling the display case obscured the trapped heroes, while the cunningly contrived chemical reaction began to slowly, inexorably occur. Batman and Robin regarded one another silently.

“Batman, I can breathe,” Robin said, making no attempt to hide his surprise when he broke the silence several minutes later, coughing up wax.

“Yes,” Batman concurred, doing likewise. “There must be a certain amount of oxygen in this sinister smoke.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Honey Bee does not intend for us to choke to death or be asphyxiated.”

“I remember. She said wax would fill our lungs and make them burst.” Robin paused to cough and continued, “eventually. Do you see a way out of this trap?”

“I think Honey Bee made a mistake when she had our hands stuck to our hips in close proximity to our utility belts.”

“I don’t understand how she erred there,” Robin responded. “We can’t move our fingers and our belts are completely encased in wax!”

“We must cling to hope.”

“Okay. I can feel wax dripping into my throat.”

“We have a slim chance as long as we can swallow.”

“Good thinking, Batman. Keep the dripping wax out of our lungs.” Both heroes coughed and their bodies convulsed slightly. “The wax is soft.”

“Our body heat, like this strange smoke, is unable to escape from the death chamber Honey Bee created for us. Can you lean against the glass pane in front of us?”

“I might be able to lean toward it,” Robin said. “I doubt I’ll be able to keep my balance for long.”

“I’m counting on both of us losing our balance, old chum. That pane of glass is the only thing standing between us and freedom!”

“Once we’re out of this display case, the smoke will work more slowly! Do you think escaping this chamber will be enough to save us?”

“I’m sending an emergency message in Morse Batcode just in case.”

“You reached the wireless Bat-transmitter on your utility belt! Nice going, Batman!”

The Dynamic Duo leaned toward the glass pane in front of them. Slowly, their upper bodies moved closer as the wax around their waists softened.

“Keep swallowing, Robin,” Batman urged. “It’s all a matter of balance now.”

Ten minutes later, the Dynamic Duo fell to the floor, when the glass pane their combined weight had detached from the display case shattered.

Running feet grew louder before Alfred, Bruce Wayne’s faithful butler, skidded to a halt. “Oh my goodness!” the Englishman exclaimed.

“Alfred, disburse that smoke,” Batman urged. “Use the Batfans.”

“Very good, sir,” Alfred said. In seconds, he was holding a Batfan in each hand and blowing away Honey Bee’s strange, sinister smoke and leaning over to blow out the candle.

Batman and Robin climbed to their feet, rested their hands on their knees and coughed up several globs of wax. Once they were breathing normally, they straightened, thanked Alfred, and told him their story as they peeled wax away from their costumes.

“It seems the young lady has considerable scientific resources at her disposal,” Alfred observed.

“She’s no lady, Alfred,” Robin said. “I think you’re right about her resources, though. What do you think the HIVE she talked about is, Batman?”

“I don’t know, Robin,” the Caped Crusader admitted, putting a shard of glass and a glob of wax from the deadly candle in evidence bags. “Honey Bee has, however, left us several clues to help us find out. I’m curious about her stealing the Chinese art treasures.”

“You’re right, Batman. If the HIVE is a think tank or research group, they may need money to carry on their work.”

“Perhaps," the Caped Crusader replied. “I’m sure this robbery is just the beginning of Honey Bee’s criminal campaign--"

“No doubt, you’ll encounter her in her future criminal endeavors, sir,” Alfred predicted.

“Maybe even sooner, if we can track her through these clues she’s left us,” Robin eagerly suggested.

“Right you are, Robin. To the Batcave!”

Alfred hurried from the museum on the Dynamic Duo’s heels.

As Batman’s investigation began; Batgirl’s reinforcements assembled; and the Curved Crusader threaded her way through traffic at the top legal speed, the captured messenger at Penguin and Catwoman’s clifftop mansion was relieved to feel the restraints binding his limbs withdrawn.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully.

“Don’t mention it,” the woman who had released him kindly said, stepping back out of his line of vision as he turned to look at her.

“I don’t know how long I’d have stayed tied up if you hadn’t come.”

“Well,” the woman replied, “you’re free to go now.”

“Could you come along to tell the police what Catwoman did to me?”

“There's no need to be concerned,” the woman said, chuckling. “The authorities will soon be well aware of Catwoman’s criminal activities, believe me.”

“Oh. Good. I’ll just leave the matter to you then, ma’am. Thanks again. I’d rather be home with my family than spend a lot of time talking to the police, anyway.” He hesitated and worriedly explained. “I would never shirk my responsibilityes as a citizen and a crime victim, but my wife and kids are probably worried sick about me.”

“Anyone would understand how you feel,” the woman sympathetically replied.

“Okay,” the man said, hurrying away.

Lisa Carson smiled. ‘One more witness against Catwoman who will do no damage,’ she thought. ‘He probably stupidly assumes I’m Batgirl.” She moved quietly through the darkened mansion until she found the chest she had been asked to remove. ‘I’m glad Catwoman asked me to handle this job. None of the others would have bothered to release that poor fool.’ She shrugged and opened the chest.

The sight of the jewels glittering in the moonlight took her breath away. “Well,” she murmured. “Look at all the pretty jewels.” She plunged her hands into the chest and let the gems spill through her fingers as she laughed quietly.

“They’re beautiful. It’s no wonder Catwoman doesn’t want Penguin to learn about them.” Quickly, the socialite began to transfer the gems from their chest to a large, wheeled suitcase she had brought with her for that very purpose.

Meanwhile, Batgirl parked in an alley beside the Bessarovian Embassy. She then Bat-climbed the taller building next door, perching in the shadow of a buttress where she could watch the activity in the illuminated Embassy courtyard below.

The two trucks and the Kitty Car in the driveway as well as the small herd of horses picketed on the lawn told the watching warrior against crime her enemies had beaten her to the scene of their intended villainy. She threw her Batrope to a balcony rail above and swung across the alley to the roof of the Embassy.

A quick circuit of the roof brought her to a spot above another balcony with sliding glass doors. She quietly lowered herself to the balcony and passed through the room beyond the door. She arrived at an interior balcony that overlooked the scene in which the villainous triad participated below. Batgirl waited. Watching.

With the Cossacks standing a respectful distance away, the Penguin was checking the positions of cameras, lights, and microphones. “Very good, my finks. I think we’re ready. Wak, wak, wak! Olga, you were very wise to engage me as your official, Royal Documentarian. It is a pleasure to serve you – and the diplomatic immunity you promised me won’t come amiss either. Wak, wak, wak!” Penguin finished by muttering to himself, “It’s been a long time since I’ve worked behind the camera.”

“Da, you have served me well, Bird Brain. I will reward you,” Olga said. “Catwoman’s planski is workink. Soon, she will get what she deserves, too.”

“Wak! Of course her plan is working. She recruited me to carry it out! Catwoman is much more than just a pretty face!”

“Everyone in world know Catwoman beautiful. Also, she use twisted, criminal methods,” Olga agreed, grinning and nodding.

“It’s nice not to be underestimated,” Catwoman declared from across the room, regarding the Tartan Tyrant with hands on her well-rounded hips.

“Finks!” Penguin bellowed. “Front and center!” Seahawk, Raven, and Falcon lined up before their master. “Good. Wak! Now, position the first prop.”

The finks wheeled the Egg of Ogg to the center of the room and Penguin invited Olga to stand behind it, where the cameras could easily record her image.

“Ah! Golden Eggsky! Where is Silver Scimitar of Taras Bul Bul?”

“As soon as Catwoman retrieves it for us, Olga, we can film your finest hour as Queen of the Cossacks. Wak, wak, wak!” The Penguin removed his cigarette holder from between his teeth and gestured at his domestic criminal companion magnanimously. “Catwoman, please proceed.”

“With pleasure,” the Princess of Plunder muttered. Then she called, “Kittens, bring in the safe!” Moments later, her sextet of shapely sycophants wheeled the heavy, metal box, standing some seven feet high, to her. “Now,” their mistress purred. She crouched beside the safe and put her ear against the metal, beginning to manipulate the dial.

“Bird Brain,” Olga asked, “why we open safe like that? My Cossacks could chop officials to bitskies until one of them open it for us.”

“No, Olga, your return to power need not be preceded by a bloodbath,” Penguin said.

“Bloodbath is Bessarovian tradition,” Olga objected. Then she seemed to consider the Penguin’s point and looked around the finely-appointed room. “Perhaps you right, Bird Brain. Blood is very messy.”

“Olga,” Penguin inquired, “why do you keep calling me, ‘Bird Brain’?”

“You criminal genius, yes?”

“Absolutely! Wak!”

“You name yourself after bird, yes?”

“The most noble bird on the planet,” Penguin said puffing himself up. “I’m sure you’ve noticed how people worldwide have flocked to a movie about them!”

“So, you Bird Brain,” Olga declared, nodding. “Now, why we not blow open safe? Catwoman not open it yet!”

“I could work faster, if you two would be quiet!” Catwoman said pointedly.

Penguin lowered his voice as he responded to his criminal client’s question. “Using dynamite would upset the serenity of this historic scene, to say nothing of what it would do to my camera equipment. Wak!”

“Da! You are Bird Brain, Penguinski,” Olga said.

“Wak! I am, aren’t I?”

“Da,” Olga repeated.

“Kittens,” Catwoman said, straightening, “bring our Bessarovian observer forward. The Queen of Bessarovia is about to be crowned. This safe, locked in the vault at their embassy, was quite inadequate to protect it.” She laughed as her hench-kittens obeyed.

Once the scene was set to her liking, Catwoman pulled the door to the safe open to reveal the Silver Scimitar of Taras Bul Bul. Olga reached for the ornamental, functional weapon, but Catwoman was closer and grabbed it.

“Give me Scimitar!” Olga commanded.

“No,” Catwoman replied calmly, holding the weapon at eye-level. None of the Cossacks moved.

“What is this?” Olga demanded. “Bird Brain, your partner has taken the Scimitar.”

“Pengy,” Catwoman began, “aren’t you a little tired of being called ‘Bird Brain?’”

“Wak! There are more complimentary cognomens.”

“Then, why don’t I cut out her tongue for you?”

“Well, she is our client, Catwoman–”

“Yes, but before she finally paid up, she at first refused to deal with me. She insisted on being brought to you at once. It was as though she had been dealing exclusively with you.” Catwoman’s voice hardened. “I believe an explanation is in order before we continue.”

“What is ‘explanation?’” Olga asked. “You give me Scimitar, Catwoman, or you end up in my wedding borscht!”

“Wedding borscht? Wak, wak, wak! Just who are you planning to marry?”

“Why, Eggski, Batuschka, and you, Penguinski!”

Catwoman laughed and lowered the sword. “That sounds like a busy night. Tell me, how many husbands may a Bessarovian queen have?”

“Up to six.”

“Congratulations, Pengy. I’m sure the two – or should I say the four – of you will be very happy together.” Catwoman smiled and considered how funny it would be when Batman shot down Olga’s marriage proposal with his lame line about devoting all of his time to “crimefighting.” She also knew for a fact that Egghead was hiding in Bermuda with a gorgeous henchwoman named Chickadee. She did not know the exact nature of their relationship, but that was hardly the point when it came to needling the Tartan Tyrant. Besides, Catwoman wanted Batman for herself. ‘What woman wouldn’t? Well, except women like Pussy, Tara, Nora Clavicle . . .’

“Olga!” Penguin cried. “What . . . What are you saying? Wak, wak, wak! I hardly know you. We have a business relationship! You’re a client to Catwoman and me. It is vital to keep the lines of communication open, but I mustn’t let you get the wrong idea.”

Catwoman had had enough. She whirled and put the edge of the Scimitar against Olga’s throat. “You’ve not shown me the slightest respect since we met!” Catwoman accused.

“No! That not true–”

The blade rising to touch the underside of Olga’s chin silenced her. “I’ll not listen to your lies about our relationship, Olga.”

“What are you doing, Catwoman?” Penguin asked.

“Saving you from matrimonial bliss. Do you imagine she’ll give you a choice about purr-ticipating in the ceremony?”

Batgirl tensed on the balcony above them.

“Wak! I suppose not. What will you do with her?”

“You’ll see, Pengy,” Catwoman said, her voice betraying amusement.

The Queen of the Cossacks glared at Catwoman. “You kill me?” Olga asked.

“Not unless anyone interferes with me!”

“What is it you want?” Olga asked.

“In exchange for your life?” Catwoman purred.

“You not kill me!”

“Don’t be so sure!” The Scimitar pressed harder against Olga’s skin without breaking it. “All I have to do is, draw back the blade . . .” Catwoman whispered.

“My Cossacks would cut you to bitskies.”

“If they try, they won’t save you,” Catwoman said, raising the blade a millimeter and drawing the other woman up onto her toes.

“Please . . . don’t,” Olga pleaded, all bravado melted away, her voice barely a whisper.

“Much better,” Catwoman purred. “Now, beg to me for your mortal existence!”

“Please, Catwoman,” Olga said, even more quietly.

“Purr-fect! All right, Olga, get in the safe, before I change my mind about sparing you.” Olga backed toward the safe with Catwoman matching her pace and maintaining the position of the Scimitar. Once the foreign fiend was inside, Catwoman slammed the door and spun the dial.

“What are you doing, Catwoman?” Penguin demanded. “Olga will never grant the favors that prompted me to pull this job now!”

“That hardly matters, Pengy,” the Feline Fiend said confidently.

“What are you talking about? Wak, wak, wak!” the Penguin said. He spoke quickly, exhaling plumes of smoke as he did so.

“I’m about to take over Bessarovia. Mr. Chekov, you may install me as your queen whenever you wish.”

“No,” Vladimir Pavel Chekov said, shaking his head profusely.

Undine peered from behind the bank of camera equipment. “Pengy, does this mean there won’t be anything for you to document? Should I turn the cameras off?”

“What?” Penguin demanded, whirling to face the blonde. “Undine, I thought it was understood you were to turn off the cameras after testing?”

“I decided to film everything before the ceremony to add to the DVD release as bonus material.”

“How could you be so stupid?!” Penguin demanded. “That tape will send all of us to prison forever it the police get their hands on it!”

“Oops,” Undine said.

The Bessarovian Deputy Undersecretary of International Affairs was emphatically reiterating his position, saying: “Catwoman, you cannot be permitted to take my country’s throne. I will never install you!”

“Oh, but you will,” Catwoman purred. “Meow.”

The hypnotic power of the sound Catwoman made compelled the Bessarovian diplomat to begin intoning the words to the traditional Bessarovian ceremony. He tried to stop after the formal introduction, but was dismayed to realize he had gone on speaking. He closed his eyes and concentrated on silence and stillness. Despite his best efforts, he could feel his lips move and hear his voice proceeding with the ceremony.

He was powerless to stop.

Intellectually, he knew he should stop and he badly wanted to halt the proceedings. Nevertheless, as he gestured toward Catwoman, he knew the power gripping him was irresistible. He would inexorably perform what would be the most infamous ceremony in Bessarovian history to its inevitable, yet unfortunate, conclusion.

“Purr-fect,” Catwoman purred. “First Bessarovia and then the world will be mine!”

“Hello, kitty!” a new female voice said. The criminals looked up and realized a powerful and pulchritudinous purple figure was descending toward them on a rope suspended from the overhead balcony. Seconds later, boot heels impacted the Penguin, sending him sprawling across the room.

“Batgirl!” Catwoman incredulously said, staring and standing stock-still as the heroine reached the floor and let her hands settle onto her shapely hips while her legs spread to shoulder-width. “You’re dead! I saw the explosion! Yet . . . you stand before me . . . alive. . . and well. It’s . . . it’s impossible!”

The Feline Fiend retreated, raising the Silver Scimitar of Taras Bul Bul and brandishing it defensively. When she finally made it to a point between the Egg of Ogg and the diplomat officiating the traditional Bessarovian ceremony, she went on speaking. “You must have multiple lives, like a cat, Batgirl. Kittens, skin her!” Catwoman thrust the Scimitar at Batgirl as her sextet of shapely sycophants advanced.

“We’ve done this before, ladies,” Batgirl murmured.

“This time will be the last time, Batgirl,” Purdy said.

“I’m glad we get a rematch,” Tabitha added.

“You’re going down!” Pussy predicted.

“I’ve heard that before,” Batgirl replied.

“Talk is cheap,” Whiskers declared.

“Talk isn’t the only thing,” Batgirl shot back.

“We’re going to kick your butt,” Boots announced.

“Come on!” Mittens urged. “Let’s get her!”

As they spoke, the hench-kittens surrounded Batgirl. A wicked smile curled Catwoman’s lips as she slid the sword into the place it had occupied when it pierced the Egg of Ogg and leaned against the artifact to watch the Batfight.

It started well for Catwoman’s side as Mittens and Whiskers seized Batgirl from behind and pulled the heroine off-balance. The others pressed their advantage, unleashing a fusillade of blows that seemed to wear Batgirl down – until the hench-kittens who gripped her arms each took the full force of an elbow to the gut and doubled over. Batgirl sidestepped, letting Whisker’s falling body separate her from her attackers for a moment, thus giving her the chance to grip Tabitha’s wrist as the tall ex-dancer reached to catch her. A hard pull on Tabitha’s arm and an elbow swinging with bone-shattering force took the brown-haired beauty out of the fight.

Catwoman spotted Undine helping Penguin to his feet and moved beside them. “Batgirl is already turning the tide of this battle. I don’t like it,” the villainess worriedly observed.

“What your hench-kittens need are some helping hands,” the Penguin observed. “Finks! What is the matter with you? Get in there and fight!” Seahawk, Raven, and Falcon waded into the Batfight as Pussy went flying and Boots hit the floor with a smack. “You, too, Undine!” Penguin commanded, pushing the blonde toward the battle.

“What about you, Pengy?” Undine asked, looking over her shoulder.

“Catwoman and I will remain in reserve,” the Bumbershoot Bandit announced. "Mash her!”

Meanwhile, from behind, Raven and Seahawk had taken Batgirl’s arms while Falcon and Purdy gripped her flailing legs. Batgirl struggled momentarily before realizing no amount of squirming would free her from their hold. Suddenly, her mind flashed back to the last time she had been held in this tenuous position.

On this occasion, however, her limbs would not be torn from her torso, at least not immediately. Undine stepped forward and backhanded Batgirl across the face.

“Does that hurt?” the blonde asked. When Batgirl said nothing, she smiled and rubbed her hands together. “What’s wrong, Batgirl? Cat got your tongue?” An open-handed slap turned Batgirl’s face, leaving a red mark on her cheek. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

Batgirl let her body sag. The grip on her relaxed, as she hoped it would, and she suddenly whipped both legs into the air and flipped backwards, landing on her feet behind Raven and Seahawk. Batgirl stepped back, slipping her arms free from the men’s grasp and hitting each in the breadbasket when they turned to pursue her. As they doubled over, Batgirl gripped their necks and slammed their heads together. The finks collapsed.

Purdy moved forward, launching herself toward her enemy. She stopped short when a purple boot slammed into the center of her chest. She straightened and saw Batgirl shoving Falcon and Undine in opposite directions as the heroine passed between them. A foot slapping into her face took the hench-kitten off her feet and a spinning kick to the side of her head brought down the last of Catwoman’s forces.

Falcon and Undine were closing on her from opposite directions and Batgirl ducked under their punches, causing them to stun one another. Moments later, Batgirl had dispatched them both. “Enjoy that,” Batgirl said to the fallen woman.

“All right, Penguin, I’ve taken care of your thugs again and now it’s your turn,” Batgirl said, stepping toward him ominously.

“I don’t think so, Batgirl,” Penguin replied, brandishing his umbrella. “I’ve prepared a little surprise in the event of just such an emergency! Wak, wak, wak!” He gripped the handle and rolled fabric of his umbrella and moved his hands apart. A long, needle-like blade emerged from the disguised sheath. “My umbrellas are a little too cumbersome to be used effectively as swords against the likes of you. Now this . . . !” He smiled triumphantly. “En garde, Batgirl!” the sinister swordsman said.

“I’m on the edge of my seat,” Undine said, standing and weakly leaning against the wall where her body had settled after the fight.

“Poke her full of holes, Pengy!” Catwoman encouraged the wily bird, moving eagerly toward him.

Batgirl dove to the floor beneath Penguin’s first thrust and tumbled toward the Egg of Ogg. She returned to her feet and wrenched the Silver Scimitar of Taras Bul Bul from the golden egg.

“En garde, Penguin!” Batgirl said. Fencing had been a college hobby for Barbara Gordon, who had learned to shoot as a teenager. With occasional, intense training in marital arts continuing, she had developed proficiencies with more weapons than anyone would have been likely to imagine.

“I see you fence,” the Penguin said, as Batgirl slapped a thrust aside with her blade.

“I’m willing to take a stab at it,” she said, having him parry a lateral cut. Their blades clashed again and again as the tempo of the fight grew faster.

Penguin would never be described as being in shape, but he fought aggressively, making Batgirl call on all of her skill as a fencer. He thrust low at her and made her leap into the air where she snapped a kick at his chin, missing.

Penguin assumed he would have her when she landed and swung at her neck. Batgirl leaped back as she parried, sweeping his blade aside. Penguin dropped his blade under hers and flicked it further in the direction it was moving. He then spun and brought his blade around, intending to slice into her neck on the other side. Batgirl saw him coming and stepped back to parry, moved her weapon in circular fashion, and disarmed her opponent.

“Yield, Penguin!”

“You’re a first-class fencer, Batgirl. I’m impressed.”

Batgirl responded by slamming the pommel of her blade into his face and knocking him to the floor. She dropped a knee into his chest and bounced his head off the floor. Penguin remained still. He was unconscious.

Catwoman regarded Batgirl as she straightened. “He’s right. You were very impressive.”

“I think this Scimitar will be more than a match for either your cat ‘o nine tails or your kitty claws. Give yourself up.”

“I’ve got a better idea. While you were fighting, Mr. Chekov completed the ceremony! That makes me the Queen of the Bessarovian Cossacks. I doubt you’ll be able to stand up to all of them,” Catwoman said with an amused chuckle. “The game, as well as Bessarovia, is mine. Now, my Cossacks, mince Batgirl!” Batgirl stood ready to defend herself once again, but none of the Cossacks moved.

Batgirl shrugged in response to Catwoman’s questioning glance.

“What’s the matter with all of you? I know at least some of you speak English. I want Batgirl chopped into tiny pieces, and I want it done right now!” Catwoman nearly shouted. Still none of the Cossacks moved.

Batgirl regarded the motionless Cossacks and turned to Catwoman. “You could always try stamping your foot,” she suggested sweetly.

“Catwoman,” Vladimir Pavel Chekov said, “your research of my country's customs overlooked the legend that tells how only the true Queen of the Cossacks can remove the Silver Sword of Taras Bul Bul from the Egg of Ogg.”

“I thought Egghead made it possible for anyone to remove the sword with that 'Egg of Ogg Acid' of his!” Catwoman protested.

“He did, Catwoman, but many years after the tradition had begun. No Bessarovian would ever have put the sword back in place as you did,” the Deputy Undersecretary of International Affairs explained. “All your plotting and scheming has been for naught. Instead of slaughtering her, the Cossacks will now obey Batgirl. In fact, they will lay down their lives in her service!”

Batgirl stared in amazement. “Well, this development certainly changes things.” She looked at Catwoman and smiled wickedly. In her best imitation of Olga’s manner, she shouted, “My Cossacks, seize Catwoman!”

Horrified, the Princess of Plunder spun and began to race from the room, but a dozen bellowing Cossacks went after her. Shortly after some noisy commotion, the voluptuous villainess was dragged back into Batgirl’s presence and forced to kneel at her feet. One Cossack raised a sword while the captive’s head was bent far forward, offering the back of her neck.

“Stop!” Batgirl commanded, raising a hand. Catwoman was kept kneeling, but her head was released. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Catwoman has committed treason against our Motherland, Bessarovia,” Mr. Chekov explained. “She ordered Cossacks to attack their Queen. The traditional penalty is royal execution.”

“Really?” Batgirl interestedly asked, cocking her head to one side. “What form does the royal execution usually take?”

“Most often, beheading,” Chekov explained.

Batgirl shook her head. “I think beheading is too quick when I consider how Catwoman, Pengiuin and their criminal ilk normally try to do away with me. Bind Catwoman’s hands behind her back,” she commanded.

“What are you going to do to me?” Catwoman defiantly demanded.

“I believe the Cossack Sabre Dance is an ancient, well-respected form of execution. Would such a tradition be appropriate in this case?”

“Most certainly,” the diplomat answered.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Catwoman screamed, partly defiant, partly terrified.

“Wouldn’t I?” Batgirl had been momentarily distracted by the villainess and she returned her attention to Mr. Chekov. “We have everything we need on hand?”

Chekov nodded. Batgirl gestured to the Cossacks. “Vlozhky! Vlozhky! Vlozhky! Hie! Hie! Vlozhky!” one shouted before running off to fetch the frosted swords and another went to get their boom box for the accompanying music. Moments later, the first Cossack returned and began to distribute the icy weapons among his comrades.

Catwoman stared fearfully at the swordsmen surrounding her and the iced sabres that remained in reserve. “Batgirl,” she said, getting the heroine’s attention. “Did you ever find out who rescued you from the Scarecrow’s trap last year?”

Batgirl was surprised by the question. “No,” she admitted.

“Well, it was me! I saved you from dying of fright. Now, knowing that, you can’t possibly do this to me, can you?”

The Dominoed Daredoll looked at Catwoman through narrowed eyes as she thought about the villainess’ claim. ‘That does make sense.’ She addressed her pretty prisoner, “I’m sure you only saved me to get revenge upon Scarecrow for framing you, and with every intention, as you’ve subsequently proven, of trying to kill me yourself later.”

Vladimir Pavel Chekov poised a finger above the play button on the boom box, looking at the Cossacks expectantly regarding their new queen.

‘Please!’ Catwoman begged.

Batgirl folded her arms and smiled. “Unlike Catwoman, most of our audience seems unfamiliar with Bessarovia’s most notorious ceremony,” she observed. “It should, therefore, be quite educational. Begin!” Mr. Chekov pressed the play button, making Cossack dance music blare from the boom box speakers. Instantly, the side of a blade slapped Catwoman across her rump, causing the criminal to jump forward. Automatically, she turned to look in the direction from which the attack had come, but immediately felt a sharp prod in the side of her right calf and the edge of another blade glance off her left thigh simultaneously. The dance had begun. Seconds later, Catwoman was leaping to avoid a sword swipe at her feet and found herself breathing hard and sweating profusely.

Undine watched the blonde Amazon spin among the whirling blades as a worried expression remained etched on her face. She had crawled to Penguin and begun to pat his face gently trying to revive him.

“I don’t believe Batgirl is making Catwoman dance for her life!” Penguin incredulously said, watching his partner in crime leap, duck, and dodge the blades thrusting and slashing at her lower body, once his henchwoman’s efforts succeeded. “It is entrancing, though. Wak!”

"Pengy,” Undine fearfully began, “you don’t think Batgirl would make us dance after the Cossacks finish off Catwoman, do you?”

“I researched Olga and Bessarovia when I learned we were working for them,” Penguin quietly said. “When the Communists took over Bessarovia after the first World War, a stylized form of the Sabre Dance was allowed to remain after this understandably popular form of public execution was ruthlessly discouraged. I think we’re watching that form right now. Like the Japanese Tea Ceremony, proper form and the correct sequence of events are everything.”

“Does Catwoman know that?”

“I don’t know, and I could be wrong.”

“What then?”

“In that case, my dear, we have reason to be concerned about what will follow the coup de grace!”

“How will she get it, if they kill her?”

“Batgirl won’t let them leave her to bleed to death and I assume she’s already disallowed beheading. We’re then left with three possibilities: All the Cossacks could run her through simultaneously or chop her to pieces. Finally, Catwoman’s throat could be slit.”

“I’m scared, Pengy. The ice has started melting off of those sabres."

Inside the circle of Cossacks, the dancing villainess’ mind reeled as she fought to hold on against her exhaustion. Suddenly, a sword slipped between her legs from the side as she stepped forward, neatly tripping her. Catwoman landed hard on her shoulder and rolled over onto her back quickly, intending to stand up. She stopped short, however, narrowly avoiding the swords whistling through the air all around her.

Catwoman realized the ice was nearly gone from the blades as she was compelled to hold her awkward position, swaying just beyond the reach of most of her attackers’ weapons. Desperately, she went on dancing, using a rush of adrenaline to make her fast-moving feet avoid the poking and prodding attacks aimed at her lower body with the now razor-sharp sabres. Suddenly, all of the Cossacks thrust their weapons downward and Catwoman leaped.

‘They’ll have me when I land!’ Catwoman thought. ‘I’m finished! It’s over!’

She was surprised and dismayed to feel her feet slide from beneath her as she landed in the puddle of water the melted ice had formed.

Catwoman could not suppress the scream as she saw each of the Cossacks surrounding her raise his weapon to deliver a killing stroke.

“Enough!”

Catwoman’s chest heaved as the Cossacks retreated. Her mind reviewed the events of the last few seconds, since the music had stopped, and realized the improbable truth. ‘Batgirl has spared me!’ She stared incredulously at Batgirl, who was speaking quietly with a uniformed Embassy worker who had come to whisper something in her ear.

“I think we’re ready for them now,” Batgirl said.

‘What’s happening?’ Catwoman wondered.

Chief O’Hara, Commissioner Gordon, several uniformed police officers, Batwoman and Flamebird burst into the chamber.

Batwoman surveyed the unconscious henchmen and kittens; Catwoman surrounded by the armed Cossacks; Penguin lying on the floor with his head cradled in Undine’s lap; and Batgirl holding the Silver Scimitar of Taras Bul Bul. “What’s going on here?” she asked.

“What was that awful music?” Flamebird wanted to know.

“Oh, everything’s under control, Batwoman,” Batgirl said innocently. “I was just about to offer these criminals a choice between surrendering and confessing their crimes to all of you instantly, or of remaining here and taking their chances with the Bessarovian authorities. Oh, Cossacks, put up your swords,” The Cossacks hesitated. “Mr. Chekov, I trust disobedience to the Queen is equated with treason and is traditionally punishable by death.”

“That is correct,” Mr. Chekov replied. The Cossacks lowered their swords instantly.

“Better,” Batgirl said, nodding.

“The Cossacks are obeying Batgirl! You didn’t use that music to threaten anyone, did you?” Flamebird asked.

The Goggled Girl's question was ignored. “Batgirl,” Vladimir Pavel Chekov hesitantly began, “please forgive me for pointing this out, but visitors should be announced before they receive a royal audience.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chekov,” Batgirl soothingly said. “I know all of our American visitors personally. So, I think, in this case, the rules of protocol may be relaxed.”

“As you command, my Queen!”

“She’s their queen?” Commissioner Gordon asked.

“Begorra!” exclaimed Chief O’Hara.

“Sometimes, I have no idea what’s happening,” Flamebird admitted.

“Sometimes, neither do I,” agreed Batwoman.

“It’s a long story,“ Batgirl said. “Right now, it’s decision time for these villains.” All of the villains surrendered. “Good choice. Be warned, Bessarovia will seek to extradite all of you through diplomatic channels if you do not confess your crimes.”

“What of Olga, Batgirl?” the diplomat asked.

“I want her removed from that safe, made comfortable, and confined here at the Embassy. I would recommend she be returned to Bessarovia and imprisoned until her debt to society is paid.”

“Very well, Batgirl. It shall be done. What of Bessarovia?”

“I will yield whatever power I’ve obtained to the recognized Bessarovian government, along with this fine weapon.” Batgirl turned the edge of the blade inward and held the Scimitar parallel to the floor. Mr. Chekov took it.

“Thank you, Batgirl. You would have been a wise queen.”

“I’d be a terrible ruler,” she disagreed. “I’ve already refused to let the Cossacks slaughter Catwoman according to Bessarovian tradition.”

Vladimir Pavel Chekov nodded. “That is true, but I’m not so sure that was a bad thing. In any case, I think the recordings the woman, Undine, made and the criminals’ confessions will help your American prosecutor. We will turn them over. Would you like us to mention that she provided the evidence, albeit unwittingly?”

“I’d appreciate it if you would,” Batgirl said.

The diplomat blinked. “You are very generous, Batgirl. You show mercy to your enemies and turn away from power you demonstrably can wield wisely.”

Batgirl smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Secretary. You are very generous, but Catwoman and Penguin aren’t the only arch criminals plaguing Gotham City.” As Batgirl spoke, she began to climb her Batrope, thus returning to the balcony overhead. It was one of the proudest moments of her life as the Distaff Duo, along with her father, Chief O’Hara and the police looked on admiringly. “I have responsibilities here.”

“Batgirl!” Catwoman called.

On the balcony, Batgirl stopped coiling her Batrope. “Yes?”

“Thank you for sparing me. I suppose you decided you did owe me my life.”

“I don’t keep score, Catwoman.” Batgirl said. “You deserve a trial in which you will be dealt with firmly, but fairly. Allowing you to be slaughtered would simply have been wrong.”

Echoes of Batgirl’s response lingered for several moments after the heroine had gone.

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