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“Alfred, have you seen my jacket?”
“It’s in the dryer, Master Jason.”
“Alfred, I need you to fetch the Riddler case file.”
“On it, Master Bruce.”
“Alfred, can we have cookies after patrol?”
“As long as no one gets injured, Miss Cassandra.”
“Alfred, tell Damian to stop biting me!”
“Tell Timothy I claimed the shower first!”
“Leaving your towel in the sink isn’t claiming it.”
“Is too!”
“Alfred, where is my super suit?” Duke giggled. “Just kidding, I’ve always wanted to do that.”
Alfred groaned and rubbed the pulsing vein in his temple. He slapped the case file on Bruce’s desk, receiving half a grunt in return, before going to the kitchen to start those cookies.
As he mixed the dough, he felt someone crouch under the sink, breathing against his leg.
“I’m sorry, Miss Stephanie, but you’ll have to wait until I’m done to lick the bowl.”
Stephanie silently pouted and sulked off.
He stopped to wipe a bead of sweat off his brow. And as timing would have it, Dick flipped over the island and flung an arm over Alfred’s shoulder.
“Heya Alfie! Ooh, you’re making cookies. Can you make me a really big one that I can call dibs on? As the oldest and awesomest, I think I should have that privilege. And if Babs asks, I can say I technically only had one cookie.”
“First, Master Dick, I told you no more kitchen gymnastics,” Alfred said. “Second, like the other dozen times you asked, my answer is no. You have to share.”
“Come on, just this once? Pretty please?”
“If I give you a spoonful of dough will you stop asking?”
“Sure.”
Alfred scooped a spoonful of the chocolate chip dough and was just about to plop it in Dick’s cupped hands when he stopped.
“Did you wash your hands?”
“Whoops! One sec.”
While Dick did that, Alfred turned and nearly had a heart attack.
“Miss Stephanie! Get off the refrigerator this instant!”
Stephanie licked her lips, eyeing the dough.
“Oh, fine, you can both have one.”
He gave Dick one dough ball. Stephanie opened her mouth and he reluctantly flung the other at her. She caught it and crawled back down like a spider. He didn’t even have a second to process that, however, as the phone rang.
“Wayne residence, may I ask who is calling?” He squeezed the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he rolled the dough onto the floured countertop. “I’m sorry, Mr. Drake is not available right now. Please call back during his office hours.”
He hung up. It rang again.
“I already told you—oh, sorry, Mr. Fox. I mistook you for someone else there.” He resumed his awkward phone-holding position as he rummaged around for the cookie cutters. “Yes, I can pass the message. We can place a rush order for those parts by tomorrow. Does that work?” Alfred stamped out the shapes. “Excellent, I’ll have Master Bruce follow up with you.”
He slammed the phone down and made a mental note to get a new one with caller ID. He arranged the cookies on the platter…
Only to realize he forgot to preheat the oven.
Sighing, he switched it on. While it slowly warmed up, he passed Lucius’s message along to Bruce, broke up a fight between Tim and Damian over a shampoo bottle, and scrubbed down all the mixing bowls. Then he put the trays in the oven, set the Robin Laid An Egg timer, and finally let out the breath he’d been holding.
“Alfred!” someone called.
He sighed softly. “I will be right there.”
Though he could never be certain if his family was asleep, he had good reason to believe most were. Whether the snores from Tim’s room were from his desk or bed didn’t matter; if he was asleep, most everyone else was too.
Alfred stretched and sat down on the edge of his bed, his silk pajamas cradling his aching joints. He glanced at the calendar in the corner of his room—the one he got at a quaint stationery store with different island sketches each month. He got up again and took a pen, hovering over today’s date.
“Happy birthday, Mum.”
He crossed it off. Another year gone by.
Back then, he started the morning by bringing her favorite cup of tea and toast to bed while the dog trailed behind, hoping to lap up the crumbs.
Some years she invited her friends for a luncheon, where Alfred and the other children sat at their own table, complaining about school while folding napkins into hardly recognizable animal shapes. One year, the Hendersons moved to Majorca, leaving him as the oldest of the crew at the prime age of eight. While the mothers discussed one of their pregnancies and the fathers (sans his own) smoked imported cigars, little Alfie led the other children through the garden, pretending to be lost in the jungle as they grazed on sour strawberries and gathered piles of twigs for a fire that they’d never light. If Mum asked, he’d say he wasn’t romping around the garden, no ma’am , but his sticky pink fingers always gave it away.
Other years, it was just the two of them. When she wanted to stay in, be it because of the English downpours or no one’s schedule matching, they spent the morning baking tartlets resembling apples along with banana-shaped croissants and cookies shaped like fish. Then they rearranged the living room into their own desert island adventure. The round coffee table was the fire pit while the tall chairs were towering forests. They built a secret cave out of bedsheets and two sofas that led to an area rug lagoon. Alfred hid while Mary Pennyworth imitated the monster hunting him down and ensnaring him in one of her warm hugs. Then they’d gather around the campfire and take turns painting pictures with words.
His mother used to tell him that people were like pieces of land; some clustered into continents while others remained at bay, but regardless the shared ocean was far from unnavigable. She said the nautical course of life was set by memories and lessons; victories that felt like the top of the world and downfalls that felt like the end, guided by the compass of schoolyard kinships and beloved books with spines worn to white. Yet now, despite the archipelago encircling him, never more than an eyesight too far, he was a castaway, drifting with the ebb and flow of the tide, seeing the trees and hearing the bird calls but never feeling the sand beneath his feet.
When did this happen? Surely it was not when he stepped up to the Wayne household. No, it must have been before, back when he sent letter after letter, just to hear from his father only at Christmas and his birthday. Alfred would never dare say this out loud, but he resented Thomas Wayne a little. Thomas has two fathers, both in his own and in Alfred’s, while across the pond Alfred was left with none.
However differently it could have gone, as much as he would give to relive his make-believe adventurer days—it was in the past. Rubbing his eyes, Alfred turned out the light.
He saw cookies burning to a crisp and dishes piling up. People called his name. Alfred, Alfred.
He saw bats scattering through a cave. Blood-soaked bandages. Caskets, too many of them, lining endlessly into the dark.
He saw empty ballrooms and a teenager with dark circles poring over book after mystery book.
He saw a theater and a broken pearl necklace.
He saw a baby swaddled in a blanket and a new nursery.
He saw the stage, everyone in costume waiting anxiously to play a part, and he saw his little girl in the front row excitedly telling everyone who her dad was.
He saw guns, and snow, and incoming soldiers daring him to let his guard down. And red. More red. His drill sergeant yelled in his ear.
He saw the London backstreets in mid-day, empty save for stragglers as he cut class once again to write by the riverbank.
He saw other children laughing. Some with him, some at him.
He saw her. The crinkles by her eyes as she smoothed her favorite pink dress. He heard her laughter tinning like wind chimes and smelled the rose perfume she always wore.
He saw…
The ceiling, the early morning light streaming through the blinds. His head felt like a muffin stuffed into a cupcake tin. When he reached for his phone, it was a lot farther away. He had to scoot over just to get to his nightstand.
That should have been his first clue. When he saw his reflection in the black screen, he screamed. And when he screamed, it came out an octave higher.
From the next room, he heard, “Ugh, Damian, it’s too early for this.”
Alfred clamped his hand over his mouth and quickly tiptoed to the bathroom.
He nearly screamed again. He was two feet shorter, barely able to reach the faucet, and his pajamas hung like loose robes. Where his mustache was he had a smooth face with rosy pink cheeks. Instead of thinning white hair, he had a head full of dark locks sticking out every which way.
Oh dear heavens no.
It was a dream. He had to be dreaming. He pinched his arm and his middle, but instead of bolting up in bed, he just squished bits of baby fat between his fingers.
What to do?
His eyes traveled to the window above the toilet. If he could make it off the Manor grounds, he’d be able to call Zatanna or John Constantine from someplace he wouldn’t get caught and they’d fix this. Indeed, his plan was foolproof.
He climbed on the tank and popped the window open.
Even when he was young, Alfred had the know-how to scoot along the second-floor ledge until he found a thick enough ivy rope growing on the side of the house. He slid down, landing amongst the rose bushes, though not without a few thorns prickling his arms. Splendid. He just hoped he didn’t get the undeveloped mind of an eight-year-old too.
He sent a message in the family group chat saying he had something urgent to attend to and wouldn’t be available all day.
First things first, he needed clothes that fit him. Or at least, fit him better.
He waited outside Damian’s window until the latter went for a shower. Though Damian was physically a little older, his things would have to suffice. Alfred knew under which roses were the keys to each window, and Damian’s was taped to the one that had not bloomed yet. A thorn prick later, he unlocked it and hoisted himself inside.
Damian wouldn't likely miss a school uniform, so Alfred took one from the many, hanger and all (because Damian would notice an empty hanger). He also took one of the many pairs of trainers from the bottom of the closet.
The knob jiggled.
“Damian, I’m borrowing your charger.”
He rolled under the bed right as Dick stepped in. Alfred held his breath as Dick rummaged through the desk for what seemed like forever. Then he held it some more as Dick left and Damian replaced him.
Suddenly, Titus started sniffing the ground by the bed. Alfred cringed away.
Damian tutted. “Stop that, Titus. You know I don’t leave crumbs.”
The dog backed away. Damian put Titus on a leash and left for their morning walk.
Once the door closed, Alfred counted to ten before rolling back out and taking the window back to his own room.
He didn’t register how small he was until he had to cuff his pants and roll up the sleeves of the white dress shirt. He stuffed tissues into the toes of the shoes so his feet wouldn’t slip around inside.
Just as he was about to comb his hair, someone knocked on the door.
“Hey Alfred, just letting you know the coffee’s ready,” Tim said.
He sighed in relief. That was one small thing off his plate. Still, the rest of the plate was still filled with this turkey of a problem.
“Alfred? You good?” Tim asked.
He panicked and turned on the shower.
“Oh, sorry! I’ll leave you to it.”
Once he was certain Tim was gone, Alfred pulled out his phone and called Zatanna. When she didn’t pick up, he left a quick message before dialing Constantine.
“You’ve reached Constantine. Talk to me.”
“Mister Constantine, it’s me. I need your help.”
“The bloody hell is this, a prank call?”
“No,” Alfred said. “It’s Alfred Pennyworth.”
“And I’m his royal majesty.” Constantine snorted.
“The last time you visited Gotham, you left your socks and were too embarrassed to ask for them back so I mailed them to you.”
Alfred heard him pull the phone away and curse.
“What happened to you?” he asked.
“I don’t bloody know! I just woke up like this—like a child.”
“Any recent magical run-ins?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Alfred turned up the shower to mask the rising panic.
Constantine hummed. “I have a bit of a full schedule today, but if you can keep yourself busy until this evening, we can rendezvous then. Something tells me that the Bat’s not too keen on having a child butler, though.”
“I already notified him I will be unavailable.”
“Atta boy.”
Constantine hung up. Alfred turned the shower off right as the man sent a meeting location at a corner restaurant near the Gotham Zoo. At least, it wouldn’t be too out of place if he hung around there until their meeting time.
The zoo would have been the perfect place to camouflage had it not been a school day. The only children around were those in strollers or teenagers cutting class. Alfred covered the embroidered West-Reeve School crest with a sticker reading “You’re Panda-bulous!” He may only be eight years old temporarily, but he did not need to add to his past truancy record.
He grabbed a balloon and trailed behind a dark-haired woman who was too busy wrangling a pair of unruly toddlers to notice him following her to every exhibit. He tied the balloon to his wrist and pushed his sleeves up as the morning grew warmer (his sudden lack of arm hair startling him for a second).
One time, when he was around this age, Mum brought him to the London Zoo where they installed a new spider monkey enclosure. The netted dome allowed people to get up close to the animals, with some children sticking their hands through to try to pet the monkeys. A baby one reached through and snatched his ice cream. He cried and Mum laughed a little, which made him cry even more until she dried his tears with her silk handkerchief and bought him another cone.
As he watched a monkey climb up a string of truck tires, he smiled fondly. He recalled other children being scolded for making a fuss in public, but Mum was never like that. Her voice was always level and she dropped any talk of consequence until every last tear was dried. Alfred blinked the mist out of his eyes.
The balloon popped.
Alfred traced the rubber pieces with a spitball among them to a stout, raven-haired ten-year-old standing atop a picnic table. Three other kids surrounded him. Three were giggling while the youngest—who couldn’t have been older than six—glanced over his shoulder fervently.
“Oops.” The ten-year-old smirked.
Alfred marched up and snatched the straw.
The kid exclaimed, “Hey!”
“Oops,” Alfred smirked.
The boy wound his fist back, but a brunette girl stopped him. “We don’t wanna cause a scene or else we’ll get caught.”
“Caught?” Alfred asked.
The kids all went silent. The youngest boy was so nervous he looked like he was about to wee himself.
“We cut class,” he blurted.
“Daniel!” the girl exclaimed.
“It wasn’t my idea. Please don’t snitch.”
“I wasn’t,” Alfred responded. Grabbing attention spelled trouble for him too, but he didn’t say it.
An Asian girl his age tilted her head. “Your accent’s funny. What’s your name?”
“Alfred.”
The older boy’s French accent shone through his haughty snicker. “That’s an old man’s name. Your parents must hate you.”
“Can we call you Alfie?” the brunette asked. “It’s not as lame.”
He shrugged.
“Well, Alfie, we’re just about to head down to the lake. Wanna come with?” the Asian girl asked.
“Erm…”
He checked his watch. It wasn’t even quarter to noon yet and Constantine wouldn’t be arriving until later this evening, and he did need a place to pass the time without drawing attention to himself. And some of these kids, at least, were keen on that.
“Alright.” He shrugged. “But I need to be back by five-thirty.”
“Sweet!” She hopped down and grabbed his arm. “I’m Emily, by the way. That’s Francesca and Louis and my little brother Daniel. We all go to the international school in Bristol.”
Alfred tilted his head. “Don’t you have class?”
“Class schmass,” the brunette—Francesca—said. “One day’s not gonna kill us. Besides, it’s so nice out. It’d be a crime to stay inside.”
“I paid off the secretary,” Louis said. “Nothing a few hundred cannot buy.”
Alfred internally cringed. Thank goodness he raised Bruce better.
“So you’re the leader,” he said as they left the zoo and headed into the rest of the park.
“Why? You scared?” the boy asked.
“No.” Alfred straightened up.
Louis grinned like a Cheshire Cat before stomping on a beetle and grinding it into the cobblestone.
“I’m not scared of you,” Alfred repeated.
“Your mistake.”
Emily tapped Alfred’s shoulder. “Look, I found a shortcut to the lake.”
The kids gathered at the edge of a dirt cliff overlooking the crystal-blue waters. Alfred held onto a low-hanging branch like a subway handrail while Emily stopped her brother from walking too far. Francesca climbed onto a large rock and looked out, with Louis anchoring her foot.
“You think we can climb down?” Emily asked.
“Sure,” Louis said. “It’s just a hill.”
Exposed roots wove through the dirt like earthworms. Plates of rock created handholds, not unlike the rock walls Alfred’s family trained with, but it’d been so long since he himself scaled anything. But how stable were they? The ground felt loose like the slightest amount of pressure could cause an avalanche.
He was so busy thinking that the others were already halfway down, and he wouldn’t have noticed if Emily didn’t call his name.
Alfred glanced from the backpacks abandoned by the rock to the kids climbing down. Louis and Francesca easily hopped from step to step while Emily carefully guided little Daniel down the steep incline. Alfred gulped and shimmied down a thick root before stepping onto a flat stair-like rock.
“You got this, Alfie!” Emily gave a thumbs up and gap-toothed grin.
He smiled back and hopped onto the next rock ledge. He grasped the dry roots for balance, dirt burrowing into the crevices of his hand and dusting the hem of his trousers.
He touched down on the shores, hot sand seeping into his trainers. He took off his shoes and socks and wiggled his toes in the warm sand. Just like when he and Mum went to Barcelona. He chuckled softly.
“Ooh, good idea,” Francesca said. She popped off her black dress shoes and put her and Alfred’s things on a log. “Those things were killing me.”
Everyone else followed suit (sort of, Daniel kept his socks on).
“Wait,” Daniel said. “I left Dino up there.”
Louis scoffed. “Are you a baby? You don’t need that stupid toy.”
“Louis, be nice,” Emily said. She turned to Daniel. “He’s right, though. You’ll be fine one afternoon without it. Besides, you don’t wanna lose him in the water, do you?”
Daniel pouted. Alfred gently guided him to the lake.
The water was still, like a looking glass. He was afraid if he touched it, it would smudge and he’d get scolded again. Not by Mum, but perhaps by the sitters or the housekeeper who spent all morning cleaning.
It was then he noticed the dimple on his cheek—the one children and old ladies alike loved to poke. His finger gently sank into the dip as he tried to remember the last time someone cooed at it before he was declared too old for it. But the memory escaped him.
A skipping stone wrinkled his reflection.
Louis snickered. “Come on, we’re checking out the boat.”
“Boat?” Alfred asked.
“Francesca found this old rowboat tied to the pier. It doesn’t have a name on it, so we’re thinking of taking it for a spin.”
Alfred followed behind, frowning. “That sounds dangerous.”
“Oh, don’t be such an old man.” The pier thumped with each of the boy’s heavy footsteps. “It’ll just be for a little bit.”
The steel dinghy jutted out of the water like a ruin in receding tide, its side stickered with strings of algae. A white rope tied it to the end of the pier. A pair of dark green paddles lay under the seats. Emily had one foot on the pier and the other inside the boat, holding it close as Francesca worked her way through the devilish knot with her slender little fingers.
“Does anyone know how to row it?” Daniel asked.
The others shrugged. Alfred raised his hand.
“I learned from the—” He paused. Military wasn’t a very eight-year-old answer. “I learned from my Mum.”
“Your mom sounds cool,” Emily said. “Can we meet her?”
“She’s… in England.”
“So who do you live with.”
“Uh…”
“It’s not a hard question unless you’re an orphan like Annie,” Louis leered as he climbed into the boat.
“I live with Batman,” Alfred blurted.
They all burst out laughing.
“Sure, and I’m Wonder Girl,” Francesca said.
He climbed into the boat and pushed off with one of the paddles. Louis took the other and began steering.
“I’m serious. I can tell you things about Batman and Robin—which is me because I’m obviously Robin—that no one else would know.”
“Like what?” Louis asked.
Alfred shuffled through his memories. Bruce swinging through the city, Bruce needing to be stitched up, Bruce falling asleep in front of the TV with…
“Batman eats a whole jar of peanut butter and falls asleep in front of the TV.”
“Really?” Emily asked, holding her brother from leaning too far over the edge.
“Oh, definitely. He does it every month after fighting Scarecrow. I guess Scarecrow’s mask is brown like peanut butter and that makes him hungry.”
The paddle slapped against the water asynchronously, as if the two older boys were in a tug-of-war.
“I still don’t believe you,” Louis said. “There are at least a hundred kids in Gotham. What are the odds you’re Batman’s Robin?”
He didn’t know what came over him next when he took out his phone and pulled up a picture of Bruce wearing the Batman suit, face thankfully obscure by the box of donuts he fell asleep in.
Daniel’s eyes widened. “Is that the Batcave?!”
“The one and only,” Alfred said proudly.
“What’s he like? Is he really that scary?”
“Not even close,” he replied. “Batman’s an enormous teddy bear, especially with kids. Don’t let him see you without an adult or he’ll adopt you like he did to me.”
“Is that allowed?” Louis asked, almost with a twinge of curiosity.
“He’s Batman. Everything’s allowed,” Daniel said. “Right, Alfie?”
“Almost everything. His butler is always on him for sneaking midnight brownies, though.”
Daniel giggled. “Batman sounds funny.”
“That’s not even the beginning.”
The boat bumped as they ground to a halt. Daniel clung to Alfred’s arm.
“Why didn’t one of you stop?” Francesca asked.
“I didn’t notice,” Louis said.
“Neither did I,” said Alfred.
Wedged in the sand and gravel, the boat didn’t look like it was going anywhere—not even when Alfred tried to push off with the paddle again. The paddle just scraped against the ground. It didn’t budge when all of them tried to push it, either.
Francesca put her hands on her hips. “Now what in the Suez Canal…”
“Where are we?” Emily asked.
A pine forest towered over them, but not so dense that all light was lost. Alfred jogged along the shoreline for a second, spotting where it curved around on itself. As far as he could see, there was no sign of life—not a trail or house in sight.
Daniel asked, “Are we lost?”
“No, the park’s back there.” Emily pointed to the line of sand across the lake. “We just can’t get there.”
“I didn’t even know there was an island here,” Louis said.
“Neither did I…” Alfred murmured. A long, long time ago, he’d read a book about kids getting stuck on an island. Maybe adult him would’ve remembered the details, but now he was struggling to fetch them.
“I’d call for help but my phone doesn’t have any bars.” Emily held her phone up to the clear sky. “Stupid T-Mobile.”
Francesca threw an arm around here. “They’ll come sooner or later. Think of it this way: we get all the time in the world to ourselves. What should we do first?”
“We need food,” Daniel said.
“No,” Alfred replied. “The first rule of survival: water and shelter. We already have water here, so we just need a roof over us in case it rains.”
Louis’ eyes lit up. “Like a fort?”
“Sort of?” He scratched his head. “I actually don’t know.”
“How about this? We split up and see who can build the best fort. The winner gets…” Louis thought for a second. “Winner gets to be king and queen of the island. At least ‘til someone finds us.”
He stared at Alfred as if beckoning him toward the challenge.
“Deal,” Alfred said.
Louis took Francesca’s arm. “She’s on my team, ‘cause she’s bigger than the rest of you babies.”
“Whatever,” Emily scoffed. “I wanted to be on Alfie’s team anyway ‘cause you’re ugly.”
Not the boy’s most deplorable trait but alright.
“Daniel can be the judge then,” Francesca said. “And you can’t vote for your sister.”
“Hey!” Emily exclaimed.
“Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”
“But you just did.” She dragged Alfred by the elbow. “Come on, we’re gonna show them what a real fort looks like.”
He followed her into the forest, which was blanketed in thick grass and moss on top of rocks. He moved a branch aside before she could walk into it.
“Why are you friends with him?” he asked. “He seems like an arse.”
“I don’t know, I just am.”
He picked up a stick as thick as his wrist. “No, you’re not.”
Emily snapped a branch off a fallen tree. “Alright, you got me. I used to have a crush on him and he found out, and if my brother and I don’t do what he wants, he’ll tell the entire class. It’ll completely ruin my life. You get what I’m saying, don’t you?”
Alfred nodded. “When I was little—I mean, when I was seven, I bought a card for this girl I fancied and she laughed at me in front of our entire house.”
“House? Like—”
“Yes, like those books. Or films. Whatever you’ve seen. It’s a real thing in England.”
“Weird,” she said. “Anyway, boys all stink anyway. No offense.”
“We do stink.”
She laughed and tucked a bundle of branches under her arm. “Come on, I got a great idea for our fort.”
“We got a new report incoming.” Luke’s voice rang through the comms. “Four elementary-age students missing after they allegedly cut class.”
“Tell me more,” Kate said, swinging between buildings.
“They’re all from the international school and they’re between the ages of six and ten. The oldest is Louis Bouvier, who was held back twice and already has a history of disciplinary action. He seems to have disappeared along with Francesca Garcia and siblings Emily and Daniel Kim. All of them failed to show up to their homeroom despite being dropped off.”
“Last seen?”
“Gotham Zoo,” he replied. “They were talking to another child, but I can’t seem to get an ID. He doesn’t seem to go to their school, though.”
She pulled up the pictures he sent them. Something about the last boy made her do a double take as she landed on a fire escape. The tousled dark hair was cut as though it was seven decades ago… but the surveillance photo was too grainy to be certain.
Her phone rang.
“Send me the intel. I’ll call you back.” She hung up and connected the phone to her earpiece. “Who’s this?”
A gruff voice responded, “It’s Constantine.”
“What is it?”
“Have you seen Alfred? He was supposed to meet me at Batpizza thirty minutes ago.”
“Just call him. I’m sure he has his reasons,” she said.
“His phone’s either dead or he doesn’t have a signal.”
Kate couldn’t help but roll her eyes a little. “You’re big boys. I’m sure you can figure something out.”
“That’s the problem,” Constantine said. “He’s not.”
She paused. “Come again?”
“I don’t know what sort of magical trickery is behind this, but he was transformed into a child and I was going to help turn him back.”
This family could not have one normal week, could they? Everyone seemed to be competing for the weirdest thing to happen since Jason came back. But Alfred . She expected differently from him.
“Do you know what he looks like?”
“What am I, his nan?”
Kate took off again. “I’ll keep you posted. Let me know if you find him.”
She hung up and called Luke back.
“Change of plans. I need you to go through the archives and see if you can find any pictures of Alfred when he was younger.”
“What? Why?” he asked.
As she ran across the rooftops, she relayed what Constantine told her. Part of her wondered if Bruce knew. The other part already knew the answer.
Luke’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “I found ancestry records from 1955. I’m sending them over.”
Kate stopped to pull up a several-page document followed by a black-and-white picture of a little boy with dark hair parted on the side in a school uniform. Next to him stood a woman in a long coat and heels. Judging by their identical hair and dimples, that must have been Alfred’s mother. It was strange to think he wasn’t always the gray-whiskered man Kate knew.
“I might have an idea where all our missing kids are,” she said. “Batwing, I need a bird's-eye view of the zoo and surrounding area.”
“Green light!”
The grass tickled Alfred’s legs as he shuffled forward.
“Red light!”
Emily whirled around. Everyone froze—Alfred mid-step, the other boys in an awkward army crawl, and Francesca a few steps behind him. Alfred held his breath and forced his eyes to stay open, staring at the triangle they etched onto the tree that they were all trying to reach. Since Daniel couldn’t pick between the two equally shoddy lean-tos, they decided to do another tiebreaker challenge.
She turned back around. “Green light!”
They moved forward.
“Red light!”
They froze.
Emily scanned them and pointed to her brother. “I saw you move.”
“Not again,” Daniel whined and moved back to the big rock that was their starting point.
“That’s the rule.” She slowly turned back around. “Yellow light…”
They all moved in slow motion, except for Francesca, who gunned it. She slapped the triangle and dashed away.
“What? My sister does it all the time. She’s like the Flash at yellow lights.”
“Can we play something else?” Daniel asked. “She keeps winning and it’s not fair.”
“Sure.”
She twisted a pinecone off the tree and bounced it off her elbow toward Alfred. He caught it just before it hit his watch. Just in case, he took his watch off and set it on a nearby boulder next to one of their sweaters.
“Over here!” Louis called.
He bounced the pinecone off his knee toward the other boy, who bounced it off his head. It rolled off the banks and into the water.
Alfred and the girls booed.
“I think that makes me king of the island,” he said confidently.
“But I won Red Light Green Light,” Francesca said. “I should be king. Er, queen.”
“But I obviously built a better fort,” Louis said.
“Yeah, with my help. You didn’t even know where to find moss.”
“We didn’t need moss. You just wanna boss everyone around into making everything pretty.”
“Something’s gotta make up for your lumpy oatmeal face,” she huffed. “Whatever, I’d rather stay in Alfie’s fort anyway ‘cause you suck.”
She marched to the lean-to on the other side of the beach. Emily followed suit with her brother in tow.
Louis turned to Alfred. “You did this. I had it under control until you showed up and stuck your butt in.”
“You’re just mad because they like me better,” Alfred retorted.
“Am not.”
“Say what you want, but I don’t think they were ever your friends in the first place.”
Hurt flashed across the boy’s face. Alfred almost regretted it as he crawled into his fortress. Emily was decorating the walls with braided grass garlands while Daniel made finger drawings in the spongy mud.
Francesca scowled. “We should ditch him here.”
“He’s got a hold over you too?” Alfred asked.
“More like my parents,” she said, bouncing a pebble off the wall. “My sister’s his babysitter and his family will only pay her if I hang out with him. They think giving him a friend will make him be less like that.”
“I just hate that he dragged my brother into this,” Emily said, crossing her arms. “We should overthrow him.”
“Yeah, French style,” Francesca said. “They do that over there, right?”
Alfred shifted. “I don’t know…”
“Come on, we’re just having fun,” she said. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
Daniel pointed to the boat. “We have rope.”
The girls devilishly grinned. Before Alfred could say anything else, the other three ran off to the boat. He hesitated, glancing between them and the fort on the other side of the beach that Louis was sulking in before he grabbed his stick and went after them.
“Wait!”
He caught up to them as they heaved the coil of rope out of the boat.
“I want to help.”
Emily’s eyes lit up. “Perfect! What’s the best knot you can tie? Francesca can do a triple knot but since you’re smarter, maybe you know a better one.”
He thought for a second. “Ever heard of the Devil’s Tongue?”
“Ooh, what’s that?”
“It’s one of my granddad’s old spy tricks,” he said. “It’s impossible to untie. Legend has it they once had to cut through it with a chainsaw.”
“Let’s do it,” Francesca said. “Daniel, you keep him distracted. Emily and I will hold him down while Alfie ties him up.”
They nodded in agreement and put their hands in the middle.
“Alright, team,” Alfred said. “It’s go time.”
“Batwoman, I got an update for you.”
Luke’s voice was patchy over the wind as Kate rode down the park paths. She was searching the area around the zoo and had sent Bette to look on the opposite side, but the latter didn’t come up with anything so far.
“Good or bad?”
“It’s an update,” Luke said. “I found some belongings but I’m not sure if they’re the kids we’re looking for. I could use a second set of eyes.”
“On my way.”
The GPS took her off the main path and onto a strip of trodden-down grass. Her bike bumped along as she slowed down until she spotted Luke by a boulder overlooking a small, steep cliff. Four backpacks lay in front of him—a blue denim one, a sporty black and hot pink one, a metallic purple one with a hand sanitizer keychain, and a tiny Paw Patrol one with a plastic dinosaur sticking out the front pouch. Kate picked up the blue one and pulled out a dark blazer with the international school’s crest.
“It’s definitely them,” she said. “Find anything else?”
“There are some shoes and socks down there.” He pointed to a large log on the lakeshore. “Judging by how they’re arranged, I’d say it’s at least partly premeditated. Whether foul play is actually involved, though, I can’t say, especially since I didn’t detect any signs of struggle.”
She hummed thoughtfully. “Most likely we’re working with delinquents who ran off. One of them did have a history of misbehaving.”
“Or they could’ve lost,” Luke said. “They’re just kids.”
Just then, Bette swung through the trees and landed on the boulder.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I was just talking to a guy who got his boat stolen.”
“Here?” Luke asked.
“He lives on the lake and has this old rowboat that went missing,” she said. “Given the timing and proximity, it might be related.”
“How do we know the owner’s not involved?”
“His alibi checked out.”
Kate thumbed over the embroidered crest. “Batwing, do a sweep of the lake.”
As Luke took off, Bette asked, “Any sign of Alfred?”
“I have my hunches,” she said, “but even as a kid, I believe he can hold his own. I’m just a tad more worried about these students.”
Bette nodded, lips pursed. “But can he? What if he got stuck with the capabilities of a kid too?”
Uncertainty brewed in Kate’s stomach. “Do one more sweep of Bristol, please.”
“On it.”
Kate tied the bags to her bike and clamped the lock on before swinging down to the lake.
Knock knock.
Louis rolled his eyes. “What do you want?”
“Can I play here?” Daniel asked. “The other one doesn’t have space.”
“Sure, whatever.”
Louis scooted aside, patting the pile of grass next to him. Daniel scooped a handful of mud and began molding it.
The older boy blew his hair out of his face. “Stupid Alfie. He thinks he can barge in and tell me what to do. We don’t even know what school he goes to.”
“Maybe he’s homeschooled,” Daniel said, “and he’s looking for friends for the first time. You know what that’s like.”
“Still, I don’t like him.”
“You don’t have to like him to be nice to him. That’s what my grandma always says whenever we visit her old home and have to deal with super loud neighbors.”
Louis ruffled the kid’s hair affectionately. “I hate when you’re right. No wonder Em keeps you around.”
“And I’m the cute one!” He poked his cheeks, smiling.
Louis chuckled. Daniel laughed and itched his nose.
The girls pounced. They pushed Louis to the ground and pinned his arms behind his back as he screamed.
Francesca said, “This is revenge for the whole school year.”
Alfred threw the rope around him, binding his shoulders tightly. As the others watched, he feigned maneuvering the ends around in an elaborate cinematic show before tying a knot no different from a shoelace.
Louis spat out sand and looked at Alfred. “Please stop. I didn’t really mean it.”
“Should’ve thought about that, yeah?”
Tears welled in his eyes.
“Is he…”
“Uh-huh.”
Alfred could only untie him and try in vain to get him to stop, the others’ utterances of “don’t cry” echoing over and over as panic rose. Tears and snot dribbled down Louis’ face as he wiped it raw with his sleeve.
Grown-up him would be scolding child him into the next fortnight—or worse, give him a look of sinking disappointment that could never be truly forgiven or forgotten. He looked down at his hands, sick to his stomach.
The crying was like the classroom flu, spreading along to the next person—little Daniel. His was more of a high-pitched screech as if the weight crashed down on him.
“This isn’t fun anymore. I wanna go home.”
Emily took him in her arms and squeezed tight, but he just kept crying.
Francesca’s breathing quickened. “This was a mistake. I should’ve gone to class. I just wanted to skip a test and see what’s like to ditch. Oh God, my parents are gonna kill me.”
“Calm down. Just—” He’d done this before, bringing countless bats off the edge of hysteria more times than he could imagine. So why couldn’t he remember how to do that now? The noise didn’t bring back any instincts. It just made him want to tear his hair out.
Emily asked, “What do we do?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one who came up with this bloody brilliant idea.”
“You’re the one who tied him up!” she exclaimed. “If you didn’t wanna do it why didn’t you just say so?”
“I—” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You hate him. You were blaming him for everything. So why are you turning it around?”
She stomped over and prodded him in the chest. “Everything was fine until you showed up.”
“You invited me.”
“Because I thought it’d be fun.”
“That’s all you lot care about?”
“What else is there?”
“A lot.”
“Like what? Work, just like all the adults?”
“I thought you were alright,” he said, “but you’re just a baby like everyone else.”
“No wonder your mom’s on the other side of the world. Who would wanna be around a miserable old man like you ?”
She shoved him. He stumbled back, hot tears blurring his vision. He didn’t even see the shadow overhead until the ground trembled and a cloud of dust itched his nose.
“This is Batwing, I’ve found them.”
Daniel screamed in fear and darted into the shrubbery. Alfred wiped his eyes and sprinted after. He vaguely registered Luke radioing for backup before the sights and sounds of the beach disappeared behind the thicket.
“Daniel!” he called. “It’s okay, they’re just here to help.”
There was no sign of the boy anywhere as the evening obscured all sense of orientation.
“Daniel!”
What if he couldn’t find him? What if Alfred himself got lost, never to be seen again, leaving Bruce and the others perpetually wondering what happened? He wasn’t prepared for this. He liked to think he made good use of the daylight hours, but as twilight encroached, the fact of the matter stood: he was afraid of the dark. So, like he always did, he picked a random direction and ran.
Alfred called the boy’s name again, and this time was met with a soft cry.
“Daniel?”
He found him under the canopy of either a really short tree or really tall bush. Alfred took the boy’s hand and swiped his tears with his thumb.
“You alright, mate?”
Daniel kept crying. It was then that Alfred noticed a large scrape covering the boy’s kneecap.
“Can you take off your sweater?”
Daniel obeyed and Alfred tied it around the wound. It wasn’t a stellar job—it was too big for the small, knobby knee and kept slipping, but it was better than nothing.
“Can you walk?”
Daniel nodded. “It’s just the outside that hurts.”
“Good, good,” Alfred said. “I know they look scary, but Batwing and everyone else coming are just here to help, okay? How’s about we head back.”
Daniel wiped his eyes. “Okay.”
Alfred hoisted the boy onto his back and headed into the clamor.
The sirens died down, but the police lights still flashed as the rescue boat brought them back. Behind a blue barricade and a thin line of officers stood a young Mexican couple and an older Korean woman. As soon as the steel ramp hit the ground, Francesca, Emily, and Danny sprinted to their families as more tears were shed all around. Louis lingered back with the blanket and water bottle he was given.
Alfred looked out into the crowd. “Which one’s yours?”
“They’re not here. Yours?”
He briefly glanced at Luke talking to one of the parents as well as Kate pulling her jet ski out of the water.
“They can wait,” Alfred said, taking a seat next to him. “Where’s your family then?”
“My parents are in Normandy. I live with my uncle, but he is always working. He never picks me up from anything.”
“Did… did he even notice you were missing?”
“Probably not.”
A fresh wave of sobs wracked the boy’s body, and it was then Alfred saw it. He was a bully who loved to push people around and hold secrets over their heads, and if he was Alfred’s kid he would have turned out so much different. But he was also a familiar image—a conglomerate of everyone Alfred’s ever met, boiled down to the bare essentials. Louis wasn’t bad. He’s just ten.
Louis chuckled. “Too bad I can’t get adopted by Batman like you.”
“Well, actually,” Alfred said, “my time with the Robin Exchange Program is almost up.”
“The what?”
“It’s when the Batmans of different countries trade Robins. I have to fly back to England tomorrow morning, actually.”
“That just means he’s getting his Robin back.”
“He has other openings,” Alfred said. “But even if you don’t become a hero, I bet you a chocolate bar he’ll still take you.”
“Make it a king-size and I might try.”
“Deal.”
They spat in their hands and shook on it. A social worker then guided Louis away. Alfred watched and waved until they disappeared into the crowd.
“Hey.” Kate hopped onto the boat. “You gotta go too.”
“Constantine told, didn’t he?”
She nodded. “I was as surprised as him.” She gestured.
“Reckon we should go then.”
“Sure,” she said. “I just have a question.”
“What is it?”
She crouched down to his level. “We both know it’s not like you to cause a scene, let alone like this. The Alfred I know would’ve told Bruce and waited until help arrived. What’s up?”
The weight in his chest returned, heavier than ever. It was so unbecoming of him, but he couldn’t stop his lip from quivering. Tears rolled down his face, and no matter what he wiped it with—his hands, his sleeve, his tie—they multiplied. His hiccups came in silent staccatos. Kate enveloped him in her arms and he squeezed her cape between his fingers. It was nice, being held like that. He really, really missed it.
“I want my mum.”
He wanted his mum. He wanted to make-believe as pirates and dig for treasure in the garden. He wanted to run barefoot in the London streets as it rained and pet the stray cat that prowled his block; to take cover in a phone booth and dial the girl he fancied, if only to talk about how her night was going, as the streetlights came on and cars passed in a blur of headlights. He wanted time to wind back to his other life a thousand nautical miles away, before any talk of costumed heroes saving the city, and make some different choices and say the things he never got to say.
But as Kate’s hand carded through his hair, there was a thread of okayness. He did enough.
“By the way,” she said. “I think you left something on the island.”
She produced the watch from her belt and fastened it onto his wrist. He wiped the face.
She smiled. “Now let’s get you home.”
As the second hand ticked, the hour hand stayed like a compass needle toward magnetic North. It looked a bit like the clock tower as he hopped on Kate’s shoulders and they swung through the city; like the entrance clock he’ll eventually encounter when he goes home. If the family of detectives gave their skills a rest for one moment, they wouldn’t have to know about this until it becomes another silly little shanty. Maybe they’ll ask for cookies, and maybe this time he’ll pretend not to see them sneaking a few extras. After all, he wasn’t the only one getting older. And that made the ocean a little less daunting.