In the spring of 1992, the ice and snow had just melted, and the wounds left by the previous disaster were beginning to heal. At last, Gotham's streets had regained some vitality, and pedestrians and vehicles once more flowed through its busiest, most prosperous commercial district.
People returning to the streets were surprised to discover that a new Shop had opened at the end of an alley off the city's most bustling shopping street. What shocked them even more was that it was a bookstore.
A bookstore in Gotham? It sounded like a joke that was not particularly funny, absurd in every way.
Yet this bookstore had opened in such prime real estate. Even though it was deserted, it showed no sign of advertising or promotion.
Newly reopened shops usually held all sorts of events to attract customers. Outside the bakery to the bookstore's left, a plump woman carried a tray around, handing out sample bread to passersby. The hair salon on the right had hired several children to distribute flyers.
But the bookstore's entrance was utterly deserted, with nothing at all set up outside. People could not help wondering what kind of business genius had such confidence, expecting a bookstore to cover the exorbitant rent in the city center.
Before long, though, those curiously observing the bookstore from street corners and alleyways realized that it was not without customers. Its customers simply seemed very mysterious.
They usually wore dark trench coats, scarves wrapped over half their faces, and fedora brims pulled low. They neither drove nor rode bicycles, instead emerging on foot from some alley and walking to the bookstore.
Still, certain details revealed that the visitors were either wealthy or influential. Their clothes were impeccably kept; some carried umbrellas, while others held walking sticks.
The customers rarely came