The grand chamber of the Gotham City Museum glittered under a hundred chandeliers, their golden light refracting off polished marble and glass. It was an evening of elegance and international diplomacy. The gala, sponsored by the Gotham Historical Society and hosted by Commissioner Gordon himself, welcomed dignitaries from across the globe, their formal attire a rainbow of cultures and crests.
At the center of attention stood Princess Sandra of Moldavia, radiant in a crimson and gold gown, flanked by ceremonial guards. The Moldavian flag unfurled behind her—its double-headed eagle gleaming above crossed swords.
"On behalf of my beloved country, Moldavia, land of charm and tradition," she announced in flawless English, her accent lilting and precise, "it is my great pleasure to unveil for you Moldavia's greatest national treasure..."
A velvet curtain veiled the exhibit behind her, a massive oblong shape under rich red cloth.
She paused with a smile. "But first, a small ceremony."
A server in white gloves wheeled forward a towering white cake, nearly five feet tall and ornately decorated with frosted doves, roses, and diplomatic emblems. Whispers of anticipation swept through the crowd.
"This is our traditional Moldavian Friendship Cake," Princess Sandra explained. "It is a symbol of peace and goodwill. I will now cut it in the name of international harmony—"
The instant her ceremonial blade touched the icing, the cake erupted.
A puff of pink smoke burst from the base, and the cake cracked down the middle like an eggshell. Guests gasped and backed away, coughing as a scroll spiraled upward from the wreckage and floated to the ground.
It landed neatly at the feet of Chief O'Hara, who bent and picked it up.
He squinted at the curled parchment. "'Why is an orange like a bell?'" he read aloud.
Gasps turned into murmurs.
Commissioner Gordon's face darkened. "The Riddler."
Inspector Bash growled, "That infernal prince of puzzlers!"
"He's taunting us," O'Hara muttered. "This was no prank. It's a challenge."
"More than that," Gordon said, already turning. "It's a signal. We need Batman."
The red emergency Batphone buzzed to life in his office.
In the sun-drenched study of Wayne Manor, Bruce Wayne mingled with civic leaders over tea and maps of proposed redevelopment zones.
Bruce stood beside the city planner, nodding thoughtfully. "Crime prevention through urban design is crucial. If only we'd had initiatives like these when my parents—"
Alfred appeared silently at his elbow. "Excuse me, sir. The Batphone."
Bruce turned to his guests with a practiced smile. "I promised my young ward a fishing trip. If you'll excuse me..."
Moments later, Bruce met Dick Grayson by the pond.
Dick glanced at the tackle box. "Fishing, huh?"
Bruce gave a slight nod. "Of a kind."
The two retreated into the cliffs beneath the manor. A hydraulic door hissed open, revealing the Batcave, its computer banks already humming. Robin suited up while Batman activated the tracer relay.
"Atomic batteries to power. Turbines to speed," Robin said, strapping in.
The Batmobile engine roared.
At Gotham PD, Batman examined the scroll.
"Why is an orange like a bell?" Robin repeated. "Because they both must be peeled—er, pealed."
"Correct," Batman said. "But there's more. Riddler leaves wordplay that disguises his true intention."
"So the cake wasn't sabotage... it was bait," Gordon murmured.
"To draw me into the open," Batman said. "He wants to test his mind against mine."
Robin's eyes lit up. "Peale Art Gallery. 'Peale' as in peel."
"Exactly. Call off patrols. This is his trap."
Later that evening, Batman and Robin entered the Peale Gallery through a rear skylight. Art installations stretched across the rooms—minimalist statues and surrealist canvases under soft halogen lights.
A tape recorder clicked on.
"Before you trip over your cape, Batman, riddle me this... there are three men in a boat with four cigarettes and no matches. How do they manage to smoke?"
Robin blinked. "They—burn the boat?"
Batman said nothing, eyes scanning.
In the sculpture hall, they found the Riddler mid-lecture, surrounded by tourists and press.
Batman stepped forward. "You're under arrest for armed robbery."
The Riddler grinned. "Dear Dark Knight. What a mistake."
Mr. Peale rushed forward. "No robbery! I gave him the statue."
"And now a million-dollar lawsuit," Riddler crowed. "Defamation, assault—and I've got cameras."
Robin's face paled. "Holy legal loopholes..."
That night, news anchors lit up Gotham's airwaves.
"Batman sued by criminal mastermind. His identity at risk!"
Back at Wayne Manor, Bruce sat alone by the fireplace.
"It's not the money," he said. "It's the secrecy we lose."
Dick clutched the scroll. "He said there were more riddles. Maybe... there's a hidden message."
Under ultraviolet light in the Batcave, faint writing appeared.
"When is the time of a clock like the whistle of a train?"
"Two to two—Toot toot!" Robin said.
"Next: What has no flesh, bone or nail, yet has four fingers and a thumb?"
"A glove," Robin grinned. "Two-Two-Two Glover Avenue."
Beneath Gotham's East End, in a derelict lair:
"Keep your paws off the caviar, Molly," Riddler snapped. "We have a schedule."
Molly pouted. "A girl's gotta eat."
"Batman will follow the clues soon enough. Have the decoy ready."
Above, Batman and Robin approached a garish nightclub.
A neon sign blinked: What a Way to Go-Go.
The bouncer raised a hand. "No minors."
Batman nodded. "Robin, monitor from the Batmobile."
Inside, disco lights pulsed. Music thundered. A waitress in green sequins offered Batman a citrus drink.
He sipped. The floor swayed.
"Drugged," he muttered.
Molly leaned close. "Nighty night, Batman."
Outside, sirens wailed as Riddler's gang burst from the alley, dragging Robin into a van.
Batman staggered toward the Batmobile, intercepted by police.
"You're in no shape to drive," the officer warned.
"You're right," Batman said, voice heavy. "Entirely correct."
Deep underground, Robin awoke strapped to a steel table. Overhead, lights buzzed. Surgical tools gleamed.
The Riddler hovered.
"Well, well, Boy Wonder. It's time for your final act. And Batman's."
Robin struggled. "You won't win."
The Riddler laughed. "I already have."
To Be Continued...