Harley screamed as she charged into the bushes, with Barry close behind. Butler Merkel stood outside the shrubbery in helpless exasperation, watching the two children shove and jostle as they ran and jumped through the muddy, damp ground, their feet—without wading shoes—quickly covered in mud.
"Dinner will be ready soon. I'll get you a new pair of shoes. Stay right here and don't move." Merkel turned to fetch the shoes. Harley made a face at his back, and Barry nudged her with his elbow. "Don't you think Professor Schiller seems a little strange?"
"First of all, that's not Professor Schiller." Harley held up one finger and, under Barry's bewildered gaze, said, "That's one of his other personalities. We usually call him Pathological."
Barry turned to look at Schiller, who was deboning the meat, and lowered his voice. "It's amazing that one body can contain so many different personalities. Still, every Schiller seems pretty nice. Don't you think?"
Harley grinned. "This one is especially nice."
For once, Pamela was not wearing a dress today. Instead, she wore work overalls and wading shoes as she trudged out of the ruins of the garden, taking one deep step and one shallow one.
It had rained again last night. The dead roots and stems had been pressed into the soil by the downpour, and anyone careless enough could easily trip over them. Even with her ability to control plants, Pamela walked carefully. After all, Gotham's plants were the sort that would slap The Green twice before letting it leave.
The moment Pamela stepped onto the stone path, she let out a breath of relief and strode toward Schiller. But beneath one loose paving stone was a pocket of water. She stepped on the front edge of the brick, and water splashed up from the