At least Bruce didn’t change the code on the guest entrance on her again. Barbara cuts her motorcycle’s engine and climbs off, removing her helmet to shake out her red hair. She dons her glasses and brushes drops of water off her jacket, looking around with interest. She hasn’t been to the cave since she started grad school, but she knew that this call was coming.The elevator hums as it descends, and Barbara waits on the walkway, one hand on her hip as the doors open.Alfred emerges, his expression giving nothing away. He stops and gazes down at her from the top of a short flight of steps. His tailcoat and pencil mustache are impeccable.“Shall we sit, Ms. Gordon?”“Let’s not,” Barbara replies with a sigh. “Is he dead?”It’s been three months since anyone has seen Bruce or the Batman. Bruce has disappeared before, although usually not for this long.“Master Bruce’s instructions were perfectly clear,” Alfred says, avoiding the question as he descends toward her.“I don’t want to be hearing. She snagged the hook against the edge of the plate below his underarm, but when she tried to pull on it, he wrapped his arm around her spear and yanked it away from her. With his other hand, he tapped her on the shoulder with his staff.“Most people wearing plate armor will be heavier and stronger than you,” he said. “You can still knock them down if you catch them by surprise, but if they’re aware of you, they can brace themselves ... and they can defend themselves. It would help if you wore a helmet.”“The Heights are so cold in the winter, nobody wears helmets. Not ones made out of metal, anyway.”“We’re not in the Heights anymore.”“I’ll think about it,” she said. She wasn’t ready to mention the other reason—a helmet would cut down on her peripheral vision too much. She’d only mentioned flying the storms to Treya, and she wasn’t sure the other woman realized that it involved actual flying. Now that her dream was so close, she couldn’t bring herself to tell everyone what she was.
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