"What feast? What feast are you talking about?"
A string of images flashed through Tim's mind: Gotham's rainy nights, the gleam of leather shoes, black umbrellas, red whirlpools crashing into the rain...
Tim had never actually seen Professor Schiller kill anyone. He had only learned of the grandeur and upheaval of the previous era from Cobblepot and the others. But his imagination had always been vivid, and his clever mind could perfectly fill in the details of certain stories.
Only one phrase circled through Tim's mind—there was no such thing as a pleasant feast.
Just then, he heard movement outside the room. Peter seemed to say something, but the footsteps soon departed.
That meant someone might have arrived, and Peter could not stand waiting at the door for too long. He had no choice but to leave.
That worked out nicely, Tim thought. Having someone following him around was a real nuisance. There were too many things he could not do.
Before long, the balcony fell quiet. It seemed Schiller had finished his call. Tim did not remain where he was for long either. He climbed back through the window into the room and began to speculate about where Schiller might have gone.
As he passed a window in the second-floor corridor, he saw that as it grew later, more and more people were arriving. Cars pulled up one after another outside the farmhouse, and guests streamed in through the entrance.
I can't delay any longer, Tim thought. The cleaner identity was a good disguise, but it would not last long. Once the banquet officially began, all irrelevant staff would be forbidden from staying here. They would be thrown out.
Tim picked up his mop and hurried forward, but he caught a fleeting glimpse of Harley amid the crowd. Before