Chapter Text
Stephanie sits in the little rowboat, the rocking of the ocean waves against the hull is nauseating, but it’s required.
Her father had sent her out, made this trip mandatory, and not a suggestion.
The captain of this little ship is one of the men that Arthur had hired, a little bit because the man knew his way around a boat and a little bit to keep Stephanie in line. He’s large, gruff, middle aged and with a face that’s worn as sun dried leather. The man’s a sailor, through and through.
At least she doesn’t have to watch her skirts around him, he’s got no interest in a laddie he’s twice the age of.
The little row boat continues onwards, the ocean rocking hard against its sides. Their goal, of course, is the ship that looms closer with every pull of the oar.
Gotham Bay was known for its crime, for its lowlife pirate scum of the earth, but it’s Stephanies’s home. The worst home in the entire world, but home nonetheless. The entire bay was lined with pirates, privateers, and liquor, but the beaches that Stephanie grew up with still remain beautiful, no matter if the people on them are some of the worst in the world.
The one, single good thing about Gotham Bay had been the Bat.
A ship, black as night, rumored to be crewed by devils, or in the fleet of Davy Jones, fast as the storms it hides in. The Bat had been the ship that people had feared, it was the only reason that people of Gotham Bay was livable, the Bat kept people in line, it kept the waters safe enough for trade.
The Bat had disappeared two years ago, sailing off into the distance, with a rumor that it was going to meet up with its sister ship near the waters of the large island of Metropolis.
The Bat was never seen again.
Until two days ago.
Two days ago, the Bat had roamed its way back to shore, the black-as-night hull slicing through the waves, its distinctive black, bat-like sails reaching into the sky. It had floated into the bay, no direction, no speed, just simple, easy floating.
The entire criminal population of Gotham bay had halted.
Stopped completely,
Looking on at the Bat, the ship that everyones asking about. Everyone’s looking in, asking if it’s manned or not, if it’s really as cursed as people say. Looking in and asking anybody else if they’ve seen a single crewman.
Arthur Brown, the captain of the Cluemaster, had enough after two tense days of wary worry, and had devised a plan.
He had told Stepahnie that she was going undercover- everybody knew who the Cluemaster crew was, but nobody knew who the fuck poor little Stephanie was.
(Her old friends, from before, from when she was young, are long gone. The high class boy she used to talk with is long gone, disappeared into the depths of the rest of Gotham Bay’s upper crust.)
So now Stephanie has forged papers claiming to be an insurance company’s representative, carefully clutched in hands that shake. The dress was at least nice, a necessary splurge with the deception that they’re planning. If anybody’s onboard the Bat, Stephanie has to look the part of a wealthy insurance company investigator, or else she’s just going to die and Arthur won’t have learned anything.
The purple, black, and blue dress is the nicest gift Arthur has ever given her.
(Stephanie is all out of tears to cry about this. She’s tired, and exhausted, and knows her father will never change.)
The little rowboat gets closer to the looming figure of the Bat. A Bermuda Sloop, it’s jagged sails designed to look intimidating while also being one of the fastest vessels on the water.
Stephanie hears nothing but the ocean.
She can’t hear any song of working men, no curses and shouting and merriment. There’s nothing but the ocean, the sound of creaking wood and straining ropes.
Too fast, the rowboat reaches the Bat’s hull, the wood isn’t a true black, but a fire-stained sort of slick char, with the grains showing patterns of the natural wood underneath. The wood smells like salt, like fish, like blood.
Stephanie almost tells the captain of their two person ship to turn around, go back, the shore is safer than here.
The man just grunts, tells Stephanie to get on with it, get up there, figure out what happened.
The pilot ladder is inbuilt to the side, the rowboat goes right up against it, there’s a tie to keep them close and connected while passengers load on and off.
Stephanie stands, puts her skirts to rights, and tucks away the papers she has, was going to present as soon as she boarded, but she has the feeling that they won’t be needed now.
The climb is easy, the pilot ladder does its job well, and the ship reveals itself as she boards it.
There’s something breathtaking about it, standing on a piece of myth and legend. The boards under her feet aren’t black, they’re normal, standard oak planks. The rope isn’t made of human hair, like some gangs and crews like to talk about, but normal hemp woven. It’s a ship. A ship of such elegance that it momentarily tricks her into thinking that it’s not a blockage runner after all.
The railings are detailed lovingly, there’s places to sit and lounge around the main deck, it almost could be mistaken as a cruise ship, if not for the distinctive Bermuda Sloop body and mast structure.
There is only silence that greets her.
The sails are empty of wind, the salt has crusted over against some of the metal in the rigging. A ship loved by the shipwright, but abandoned by its owner? A miracle that it landed anywhere close to shore at all and not just destroyed by the ocean itself without somebody to man it.
She needs to see if the captain quarters hold any clue to what has happened to the crew.
Stephanie makes her way over to the aft, the backside where the captains quarters are located.
The door is beautiful, with the carving of something intricate, and beautiful, and when looked at from afar would reveal itself to be bats flying, but up close are motifs of the sea itself.
It’s locked.
“Damn.” Stephanie hisses to herself, cursing the smart black gloves she’s wearing. The damn cotton slips on the brass of the handle. She bites the tip of a finger and tugs the glove off with her teeth. Even with the extra grip the door is still locked, unmoving.
Fine then. Time to do a little bit of unethical maneuvering around in the passenger quarters.
Stephanie turns to the quarters in question, the door only about five feet away from the captains, and gives a tug on the handle.
Open.
Yes.
There’s a small hallway here- with three doors. Two passenger cabins and the captains.
It smells of rot.
The smell was covered up by the ocean air when Stephanie was outside, pushed away by the wind, but now in a confined space it smells like death.
It’s not a new kind of rot either, oh it smells like old death, like something long ago faded into the other side and now produces the tangential smell of things that just barely hang around. Trapped in stale, unmoving air until something had changed and let it all out.
The Bat had been missing for three years.
How long into that three year journey had this happened?
Both passenger cabins are locked, Stephanie can’t get through the doors.
The captain’s cabin’s door however, is finally open.
Opening the door, the reveal is something beautiful. The windows steam in the picturesque sky, the shoreline of Gotham, the shimmering ocean hiding its secrets, all wrought iron decorative filigree. The furniture is all beautiful, thick heavy oak built into the boat, with plush cushions and blankets.
There’s something melancholy about this all, the room feels desolate, for all the vibrance around it. There’s a layer of dust on the table, on the sheets, that comes from not dusting in a long time. Stephanie knows, with certainty, that this ship hasn’t been touched by a human in a long enough time that she should turn around, go to her father, tell him that the ship is stagnant, not a threat-
But she stops, looks around the decadent, abandoned room, and knows at this moment she can make a choice.
She could march right over to the rowboat she came in and leave. She should. Her father would be proud, and would thank her for her service.
Maybe even let her keep the dress.
But…
But that would mean the Cluemaster would sail right out into the bay and rain holy hell down onto the poor, defenseless Bat. The Bat would sink, down into the depths of Gotham bay, its secrets lost forever to the water below.
The Cluemaster crew would live on in infamy, and Stepahnie would soon be forgotten again, left to the side.
Nothing but the question lingering on in the back of her mind,
“What happened here?” Stephanie has to ask, running her fingers through the edge of the dust on the writing desk. The desk has heavy candlestick holders on it, along with a dried up inkwell with stains and a lovely trinket box. The trinket box is in the smack middle of the desk too- a strange position, because nothing else seems terribly out of place.
So Stephanie opens it.
What else was she meant to do?
The inside only holds two items.
One, was a shimmering, strange thing, almost like metal, but a bright blue brilliant kind of material that’s almost alabaster. It seems to glow, thrumming from the inside, something tells Stephanie that this is important, that this is something good.
The other thing is a small notebook.
“Don’t mind if I do…” Stephaine picks up the notebook and opens it to the first page.
--
Please Return him to us
--
The handwriting is shaky, quick, the ink smeared with the haste of the message. Written right onto the cover with desperation.
Return him? Return who? To where does Stephanie return him to?
A mystery!
A full fledged mystery! Oh! Oh goodness! Stephanie isn’t prepared for this, thank god she’s wearing something appropriate. Sensible, yet stylish. She’s going to solve this! She’s going to solve this and figure out what happened and she’s going to tell the right people and never be forgotten again!
Hell yeah!
Stephanie quickly goes through the rest of the notebook,
(Thank god she knew how to read well enough, learning alongside her old friend from the high class side of town, going through words and phrases and spelling her name with a shaking hand in the dirt on the other side of a fence neither of them could cross.)
It’s a captain's log.
The first page is a list of every crew mate, a small amount for a vessel of this size. The crew must have been excellent to keep this thing running as fast and efficiently as it had been back in its prime. It’s not too small of a crew, but it does make Stephanie more than impressed.
--
Bruce Wayne - Captain
Alfred Pennyworth - First Mate
Lucius Fox - Third Mate
Richard Grayson - Bosun Jason Todd - Gunner Timothy Drake - Surgeon
Cassandra Cain - Passenger
Minhkhoa Khan - Helmsman Duke Thomas - Midshipman Damian Wayne - Midshipman
Helena Bertinelli - Topman
Terry McGinnis - Topman Matthew McGinnis - Topman
Lucus Fox - Seaman
Claire Clover - Seaman
Harper Row - Seaman
--
It has the ship’s path, about the destination of meeting up with a ship from the island of Metropolis, has a frankly overly detailed description of the journey, about how each day had been weather wise, wave wise, cloud wise, and at what time each crewmate had woken up, what jobs they had attended to for each section of the day, and how the ship was holding up. Stephanie worked her way through four days before the words began to swim hard enough on the page she couldn’t continue it further. This captain was pedantic, using words that Stephanie had to sound out slowly to figure out and sometimes even not understanding at all. Who knows all those latin names for each animal one encounters during the day?
She skips to the end, trying to figure out what had gone wrong enough to warrant a totally abandoned ship.
Log after log of normal, easy, understanding-
There! Day forty three, suddenly and outside of the other, normal pattern of careful meticulous detail, there was a sudden shift.
The log was halted about midway through the day- changing from a small, cursive hand into a sharp, very familiar plea-
The same handwriting as in the front of the book, quick and fast and bold and written in block lettering.
It’s talking about a monster.
--
They invaded, we’ve been attacked by monsters unknown. Entire crew in medical. Bruce is not doing well.
--
Stephanie knows that name, from the very front of the book, the captain.
She looks for more clues, but the rest of the book is empty, devoid of anything more.
Stephanie closes the book, snapping it shut with a smile on her face. It’s a small enough notebook to hide away in the pocket of her jacket. It fits a little tight, but it fits!
The next object is that shining alabaster pearl object, perfectly fitting into the palm of her hand and warm, clearly shining with a soft glow when Stephanie has it up against her skin. There’s something about it that beckons, that calls out, demands with something in the back of her mind to keep hold of it.
She doesn’t tuck it away, the almost v-shaped blue scale, she holds it in the palm of her hand and moves on from the desk.
The rest of the room is nothing special, besides it being opulent there’s nothing in here that seems out of place. There’s touches here and there that tells the lifestyle of a man who controls his space and keeps organized. Who has knickknacks organized on shelves tightly packed so that the rocking of the ship doesn’t knock anything off.
Stephanie checks out the rest of the room, making sure there was nothing else that might give out clues, or hints.
The first thing she does is unlock the door leading right out from the captain’s quarters to the deck. Easy access in case she needs to come back for later. The second thing she does is start opening secured drawers in the cabin, rummaging through clothing and papers to find anything of use.
There’s a key in the drawer of the writing desk, the top part of the handle broken, making it not applicable to keep on a ring.
Considering it, Stephanie looks out into the door she came in with, that leads into the hallway.
Wondering, Stephanie walks back into that passenger cabin hallway.
She tries the nearest door, it unlocks easily. Perfect.
It’s a standard passenger cabin on a vessel this size. Small, with a window, and a bed situated on top of drawers designed to hold everyday items and clothing. There’s a small area that has a table and chair in it. The bed is all messed up, dust covers it. The green blanket looks soft, but it’s not hers, so Stephanie does not touch it.
The second door now opens easily as well. Perfect, easier to make one key for two locks then make two keys needed for something the crew might have to get into at a moment's notice.
Stephanie looks at the desk area first, nothing of great interest there, then the bed-
There’s a body in the bed.
Stephanie doesn’t scream. She jerks back, mistaking it at first for something- somebody- alive and waiting. Then it settles in, the dust that has laid across the covered body.
It’s been wrapped in a blanket. Tied with rope on the outside.
The body has been prepared to be buried. It has got to be where the smell of decay is coming from. It seems to have been thrown up on the perfectly made bed rather haphazardly, It looks … strange, underneath the wrappings of the now stained blanket. Stephanie is not going to touch it.
Not by a long shot.
She does move closer, trying to figure out the strange shape of the thing underneath the wrappings.
When she gets close, the scale in her hand burns.
“Ah!” Stephanie hisses out a sharp bark of pain. She jerks back- but doesn't let go of the scale.
The scale grows brighter, brighter and brighter like a flash of sparks from flint-
The scene changes. Goes white before suddenly Stpehanie finds herself in a storm, the boat under her feet tilted hard, but unmoving, the smell of gunpowder and iron thick in the air, salt from the churned up ocean sharp and hard, The darkness is the kind of dark ones encounters during a night storm, not a day one, not at all the time of day that Stephanie remembers from a moment ago. There’s sounds, screams, the ship creaking, the ocean crashing and rolling against the beautiful dark wooden hull. Of growls and howls and of fighting.
“Kill them!” A voice screams, low, a man. “Don’t let them get away!”
“We’re trying!” Another voice answers, deeper, harder. “Dickface! Don’t just hang there! Help us!”
“Stop arguing! I have one down!” A third voice echoes, younger than the other two, sharp and strange.
With that, the full scene unveils.
The deck of the ship, right outside the passenger door. The whole boat is active, mid-battle. There’s people, frozen in time, around Stephanie and unmoving in the single instant that has been captured.
There are also monsters.
Stephanie screams now, jerking away with panic in her blood. She slams herself hard into the pillar that supports the small alcove that has the doors to the captain and passenger quarters. Looking up in horror at the things that surround her.
The only thing that lets her regain her breath is that nothing is moving. Stuck still and unknowing. Even the sounds have silenced, back again to the stillness that Stephanie had walked aboard too.
A scene. A moment frozen just for her to look at.
Stephanie takes a deep breath, and moves forward.
Four people are clear and easily seen, one with long hair, sharp cheeks, and blue eyes that match the midnight sky. He’s wearing a loose shirt, revealing his chest, but it’s covered in some kind of blackish- is that blood? This man is on the Jacob’s ladder, a club in hand and beating away something evil.
It’s sort of human, in a way that’s adjacent in the same way that starfish resemble real, actual stars. It’s only sort of got the shape right but everything else is fucked up beyond repair.
Covered in debris of the sea, barnacles and coral and spiked bone. The things have something on their face, plastered on, making their faces flat, almost bird-like, supported by a thick neck covered in spines, and barnacles and rocks and coral. The arms are too long on some, too short on others. Sometimes even having too many. With claws instead of fingers, hands that are so far form human that Stephanie can’t in good faith call them hands. Legs that are similarity deformed and strange.
The largest one- the one with the deepest voice?- has a pistol, shooting at one of the monsters, while the sword in his hand is fending away another one. This one has short hair, strangely colored in two toned red and white, with a thicker torso full of muscles and what looks to be a rather bad injury laced across his neck and jaw, another injury biting into the same side, digging into his stomach and ruining his shirt and making blood cover most of his exposed skin.
The male closest to Stepahnie is tall, thin, with hair just long enough to tie back in a small ponytail at the base of his neck, and tight clothing showing just how thin he was. He’s got a long, thin rod, smashing it through the head of one of these monsters, killing it. He’s back to back with the biggest one with two colors in his hair, fighting hard on the deck with his own injuries across his hip- the blood dripping down his legs.
The one furthest away is a woman. Or looks like a woman. With chin length hair and stomping down on the head of one of these monsters, cracking the mask underneath her heel.
Stephanie can’t see her very well, so she takes a few (very careful) steps forward.
When nothing disastrous happens, Stephanie becomes more bold, taking more steps across the deck. She gets a better look at the monsters, not wanting to get close she can see that their bones aren’t set in their skin right, twisting ways they shouldn’t.
The topsman on the rigging- or, Stephanie assumes he’s a topsman, because he’s on the rigging- is short, maybe the same height as Stephanie. The largest one has the worst off, with the most injuries littering his body. The tallest, thin one has the least amount of injuries, that long weapon must be working.
Stephanie gets close to the woman at the edge of this memory (because that is what this is, what else could it be?)- and starts her inspection.
She’s Asian of some kind, Stephanie doesn’t know well enough to distinguish, and beautiful.
Sweating, brown eyes focused and dangerous as she kills a monster. She’s got blood on her hands, but doesn’t seem to be injured.
Holy shit.
The scale Stephanie is holding heats up again, nothing painful this time, just a pulse of warning-
With a flash of bright white, Stephanie is back in that room, the smell of distant rot and salt, staring at the dead body of a monster.
Stephanie, for just a moment, takes a moment to breathe, hard, through her nose. What the fuck had just-
The shell in her hands gives a little shake, a spitting shine of blue brilliant light just shatters from it, skittering away from it like light reflected off a glass being moved.
Stephanie can do nothing but follow- running off towards where the blue light dances to.
Out the door. Out of the small hallway. Across the deck.
The blue light sparks loudly seemingly in the middle of the whole main deck. It makes no sound, but it seems to pop and fizzle and jerk.
When Stephanie gets close, the spark makes itself into-
Another body?
But no. This time it’s indecisive, fuzzy on the edges and in the details, bloody and beaten and fresh, in a way the rotted one wasn’t. This is from the same magic that allowed Stephanie to see the memory, this is showing her another bit of the puzzle.
So she leans down, going to one knee and-
“What’s the hold up!” The man in the boat yells up from his position seated and unmoving, bored sounding. “Are they here or not?!”
“Nobody’s home!’ Because Stephanie can’t fake an entire crew waiting around on a ship, no, she can’t lie about anybody being here.
But she can lie about why she’s not going back immediately. “But they’ve left something aboard that’s referenced in the captain's log! I think it’s worth something! I’m trying to find it!”
The oarsman down there in the little boat just grunts, not saying another word.
Stephanie hovers nearby the fuzzy outline of the monster- not sure how to engage it.
The scale in her hand is warm.
Fuck it.
Stephanie holds out the scale, decided that she better just go for it, and slams her hand into the fuzzy magic-
Another brilliant white flash, the world is alive again, different. The boat tilts under her feet, the ocean kicks up its smells and sprays, the hard reality of a storm on the horizon and a terror in the blood.
“Cass! What the hell are those things!” That’s the voice of the boy with a staff?
“They’re attacking us! Holy Shit-! Jason!” The voice of one of the other two in that first memory- Stephanie thinks it’s the topman.
The scene unfolds.
There’s monsters climbing over the railing, two visible but Stephanie can see the arms of another, the main two and the extra ones these monsters seem to have.
The pretty topman is lunging towards a body on the ground- is that the large man from earlier? He looks terrible. The wounds on his hips look deep, wicked, and definitely caused by the monster that crouches above him, digging into the wound with inhuman hands.
The head of the monster, however, is getting snapped back because the beautiful woman from the last memory - Cass?- is kicking it in the face.
She’s riding in on a rope from the rigging, posed above the crowd frozen in an action pose, one strong leg kicked out and her hair blown away from her face with the movement, showing her scowl and her deep brown eyes and her determination.
She’s beautiful.
Stephanie walks forward, looking all over, at the scene of the boat rocking in the storm, the rain that doesn’t manage to make her wet. From her position, and with the advantage of taking her time, she can peek over the edge of the wooden beams of the railings and look on the side of the boat to see the monsters.
They’re coming out from the ocean, the hands of them grabbing ahold of what they can of the Bats black hull.
Creepy.
The man on the ground is the same man from the last memory- his hair has that distinctive blonde white patch on the very front of his head. It’s not gray hair, it’s very distinctly just a different color.
The more pressing thing, however, is the damage the poor man has taken. Injuries across his face and jaw, on his chest, his hip is the worst, with what the sharp tips of a claw dug into it.
The memory seems to call this one Jason.
Wait a second.
Stephanie pulls out that captain's log, looking at the very, very front of the book. The ship’s register. It has a perfect list of names, ready and available.
This is the gunner! This is Jason Todd!
Jason Toss had seen better days.
But the other name! They said another name!
“Cass.” Stephaine whispers, quiet and to herself, looking from the names to the girl who’s held onto a part of the rigging, swinging down like a savior, Cassandra.
Brillant, beautiful, Cassandra. A passenger, written down in a spot that had many names before it, written over with a meticulous hand.
A painting wouldn’t be this well put together.
Stephanie takes a few minutes to examine all she can. Looking at the injury, the clothing that Jason has. The face of the topman she doesn’t know the name of yet, remembering his voice and putting it to his handsome face. The dangerous way Cassandra is coming down from the heavens to save Jason.
She tries to memorize it, because she gets the feeling that this won’t be the last time she sees these people through these frozen moments in time.
Then out of the corner of her eyes she spots the hatch half open, a familiar body coming out of it- the boy with the staff from earlier, with somebody with him holding open both the hatch and a lantern.
The person holding the hatch was an older gentleman, with dark turned soil skin and thick glasses on.
Stephanie walked over to them, the hatch being open was new, the hatches had been pulled down tightly when she had originally walked onto the ship, weather proofed against the train and elements.
The younger man was from the first memory, he’s got that weapon with him, the staff, but the older man is brand new.
The world washes white again, and she’s back to the present.
The silent, simple present.
The fuzzy outline of the dead monster is still there, accessible, so that’s good.
The more important part, however, is that the hatch is now open.
The previously closed hatch down is cracked open, the oil slick canvas pulled back and the actual grating open and waiting for anybody to walk down.
Easy decision on her part then, isn’t it?
Below the main deck is the gun deck, the chaos that unfolds before her shows in the way the canons are pushed out of the way in a haphazard mess, There’s huge canons shoved up against the side of the gun deck, cannonballs shoved around like they were pebbles to a toddler throwing a fit.
There were dents in the wall where the heavy metal had been thrown around. There's blood on the ground, old and rusted out deep black and still smelling like expired iron, dragging from the stairs that Stephanie had used to walk down here to the other side.
What the hell.
Follow the blood trail, let's see where this goes.
It’s the most obvious clue, but not the only one. The beaten and battered walls of the ship around her tell a story about many a battle hard fought. The way the ship had been repaired by loving hands, over and over again, the way that the actual still intact cargo bays were tightly packed, wrapped to be as safe as possible for the crew working with them. The way that the lanterns hung close enough to each other to provide ample light to the people working below decks. The way that the whole space was wide and able to be navigated easily.
The very aft of the ship held six small cabins. Midshipman and steward cabins, normally, but with the smaller shape of the bermuda sloop it is most likely the cabins that held the midshipman and the other higher ranking members of the crew.
Stephanie checks the doors.
Four locked, of course.
Two, however, were open. Easy to get into with a simple twist of the knob.
The first one looked like a midshipman’s cabin. A bed, with a porthole window and pictures plastered all across the wall done by an artist's hands. There’s one of the handsome topman, with long hair and dimples and with eyes shaded that dark color. Another of an unknown older man with serious eyes. Many a face, more of bodies and movement and birds and rigging and ship life.
Only one of a gathering of people.
It looks like a group photo. It has the handsome topman, Jason, Cass, the boy with the staff, and the older man with the lantern in it.
A scene of merriment, a feast laid out on the open air of the main deck. Dancing, drinking, singing, the boy with the staff now has a violin.
There’s fifteen people in this picture. Rendered out in loving, careful detail, each person has been identified and drawn with a sort of dedication that Stephanie isn’t sure can be given with just anybody.
It’s missing somebody.
The artist themself. Stephanie knows. The artist hasn’t drawn himself because this was a memory from life. From the eyes of the artist themselves.
Stephanie plucks the artwork from the wall.
It’s from somebody of the upper crew. A cabin belongs to anybody from the first mate down to one of the midshipmen. Stephanie can cross out either Jason or Cass- she knows their face and they’re both in this photograph. In fact- everybody she’s seen so far is in this picture.
The rest of the room is plain and simple and easy. There’s little personality besides the art.
The second room, of course, was the surgeon's room, bottles of medicine in a cabinet with glass doors secured onto the wall. The tools of the trade were organized and carefully cleaned. The whole room was simply that, a room.
But the scale in Stephanie’s hand pusles a heat, asking if it can show her something else, something new and magical, just like last time. It’s still almost on the edge of too hot, wanting to burn but holding back by just a hair.
She starts looking.
Waving it close to the cabinet did nothing, the jars of medicine- long since out of date now most likely- not sparking interest of the scale. The tools make it warm, but not hot.
It’s the medical bed that sends it spiraling up into a frenzy.
The scene changes, and Stephanie is prepared.
The ship is now level, the smell of rusted iron is stark in the air, there’s the distant sound of yelling, the storm has calmed from its raging state to something a lot simpler, hard rain.
There’s the appearance of three men, all huddled up together, it’s nighttime, the lantern’s but the surgeons room are lit, their dull light throwing the entire place into a dim sort of view. Stephanie can see another lantern, hanging off the next set of stairs, leading downwards into the next part of the ship, the final cargo and sleeping layer.
Hell, there’s even a few hung hammocks up here, two or three strung up and filled with sleeping people. It’s peaceful, tiring, and the words are soft when they come through.
“He’s not doing well.” The voice of the bo-staff wielding one, gentle and as soft as can be. “It’s going to be a miracle if Bruce survives the night.”
“Don’t talk like that!” The handsome topman says. “Jason is already in bad shape, don’t make me worry about B too.”
“Master Bruce will do fine, children.” A new voice, accented with a posh pure english accent, not at all like the rolling jumble of the others eclectic mixes. “We’re glad that the attack is over, that we’re safe for now, and that all of our crew is accounted for.”
“You’re right, Alfred, you’re right.” The handsome topsman’s voice is close to crying.
With that, the scene opens fully, Stephanie’s able to move around freely.
There’s a man in the bed, sweating out what seems like a deep fever, a rag on his forehead. He’s somebody that Stephanie hasn’t seen before, but she knows who this is- Bruce. The men called him Bruce, and there’s only one Bruce on the ship, the captain of the whole crew, the singular man known as The Batman.
Stephanie thought he would look more impressive, but honestly he just looks sick.
There’s another older gentleman, with no hair on the top of his head and a little mustache. This must be Alfred. Another identity is sorted then, because this man must be the first mate of the entire ship, Pennyworth.
The other two are, of course, the ones that Stephanie has already seen. The handsome man is leaning against the door, farthest from where the captain sweats out his fever, blood on his shirt and bandages are across his arms and wrists. He’s still in his clothing from earlier, sweaty and gross and tired.
The one who had the bo-staff is in something more interesting, leaning against the bed with a leather apron on, hair tied back with a slim sort of leather string. In one hand he’s got some kind of medicine bottle, smearing the tincture on the rag that is draped across Bruces’s forehead. His leather apron is covered in old, strange stains and his second hand has a leather glove, holding down Bruce’s arm from trying to move away.
He’s the doctor, clearly, and if he’s the doctor that means he’s Tim Drake.
Stephanie is winning! She knows the names of like, six people! This detective stuff is too easy!
(Also, she might be getting the information handed to her via the scale, but that’s neither here nor there.)!
Stephanie makes mental notes, but continues onwards.
She inspects the entire scene, the hammocks are interesting, there’s a few numbered tags hanging on them. 15 and 16 are clearly visible, with the sleepers snoring softly away, one girl’s hair is dark, cropped short, and she’s got a bluebird pin stuck to her hammock. The other has a shaved part of her head, blonde hair, and a wound that has been wrapped around her shoulder.
Fifteen and sixteen on the ship’s roster are Claire and Harper.
Stephanie smiles to herself as the memory fades, content that she’s going to figure this out.
She stands in the messy monstrosity of the second level of the ship, and she begins to hunt.