"Isn't never having been firmly chosen my weakness?" Constantine asked.
"Bruce Wayne would probably believe that." That was Schiller's answer, which sounded roughly equivalent to "Think again."
"You think that's wrong?"
"Perhaps."
Constantine really couldn't take it anymore. He took a huge gulp of wine, then said, "I've already paid the price. You can't always make me ask you questions. Shouldn't you be asking me some questions and then giving me accurate answers?"
"That's how the other Schillers do it."
"Then what would you do?"
"You ask, I answer."
Constantine was utterly baffled. He placed both hands on the table and leaned forward. Even so, it didn't let him see Schiller any more clearly across the long table, but he had to do it to show how desperate he was.
"You can't just brush me off. Without any basis, how can you be sure your analysis is correct?"
"If you want evidence, go find Bruce."
Constantine was truly going crazy.
"Isn't that just blind guessing without evidence?"
"I am."
The stunned Constantine watched as Schiller finally slowly straightened up from the back of his chair. Constantine had thought it was a sign that he was about to begin a serious analysis, but Schiller merely picked up the bottle, poured himself more wine, then leaned back again and narrowed his eyes.
It made Constantine wonder if he had asked at the wrong time. Schiller looked like a large predator digesting its meal. Mages digested moose meat; Schiller digested mages. What a marvelous food chain.
Forcing those impractical associations out of his mind, Constantine had no choice but to be more direct.
"Give me one reason for doing this. Make me believe you aren't planning to fob me off with your answers. It doesn't have to be scientifically sound. It just has