If someone had told Nolan a few weeks ago that he would eventually grow to hate a cane more than some of his actual enemies, he probably would have laughed in their face. If someone told him the same thing now, however, he would have saved himself the trouble of laughing and simply handed them the damn thing.
"Fucking stupid piece of shit," Nolan muttered as he glared at the cane resting across his desk. "Fuck you."
The artifact remained completely indifferent to his suffering.
Nolan snatched it from the desk and turned it over in his hands, inspecting the dark material for what had to be the hundredth time. There were no obvious mechanisms, no hidden catches, no inscriptions that he could decipher. The thing had an unmistakable weight to it, almost as if it were waiting for him to figure out some secret that everyone else had somehow been born knowing.
"Why won't you reveal your secrets?" he demanded, shaking the cane accusingly. "At this point, you're only good for beating somebody over the head."
He swung it through the air a few times, watching with growing irritation as absolutely nothing happened. No flash of light. No transformation. No surge of magical energy. Nothing.
When he had first acquired the cane, Nolan had thought it would be an interesting little project. A mysterious magical artifact falling into the hands of a man who barely remembered the supernatural world he had once known should have been an opportunity, not a source of endless frustration. He had imagined himself slowly uncovering its secrets, testing its abilities and learning what it could do.
Instead, the damn thing had become the magical equivalent of a locked safe with no combination.
"I should at least have been able to figure out the easy function," Nolan grumbled, resting the cane against his shoulder. "Turning it into a sword. That shouldn't be difficult."
He stared at it for another moment before sighing.
Then he felt the familiar shift.
Nolan's posture changed almost imperceptibly, his shoulders straightening as Quentin settled into control. The cane was immediately taken in his right hand, and a smug smile appeared across his face.
He grinned trying to lighten Nolan's mood, "Let me show you how it's done." Him failing would surely bring up the atmosphere
Quentin gave the cane an experimental glance, then casually grasped the handle and pulled upward as though drawing a sword from its sheath.
There was a soft metallic shimmer.
The cane transformed.
The dark length of wood—or whatever material it truly was—seemed to unfold into itself, stretching and reshaping until a sword rested naturally in Quentin's hand. The blade caught the light from the office windows with a clean, almost elegant glint.
For several seconds, Quentin simply stared at it.
Then Nolan's voice erupted from somewhere behind his thoughts.
"What?"
Quentin's grin widened.
"The fuck?"
Nolan surged forward just enough to regain control of the mouth, his eyes widening as he stared at the sword.
"It was that easy?!"
"Hey!"
The voice changed again as Quentin fought his way back toward the surface.
"I figured it out. Give me the body. I want to play with the sword."
"Fuck you!" Nolan snapped, taking control again. "I've been trying to figure this out for years!"
"You haven't had the damn thing for years," Quentin shot back from inside his mind. "You had it for a month tops. Stop being dramatic. Now let me have it."
"You literally did nothing except pull on it."
"Exactly. Genius."
"Asshole."
"We should cut some fruit with it."
Nolan hesitated.
"Okay, but I go first."
"No, I go first."
"I figured it out!"
"After I gave you the layup!"
"Um…"
Neither of them heard Brock the first time.
"I am the one who actually discovered the trick, which means I get control for the rest of the day."
"After I was about to do the exact same thing!"
"Um, boss?"
"What?"
Both voices answered at once, Nolan's mouth distorting slightly as the argument inside his head became more intense.
Brock stood several feet away, looking increasingly uncomfortable.
He had witnessed many strange things since becoming Nolan's bodyguard. He had watched his employer negotiate with assassins, stared down men who could probably tear through steel, and learned that the man he protected had an entire collection of personalities living inside his head.
None of that had prepared him for Nolan standing in the middle of his office, holding a sword above his head and arguing with himself like a king celebrating a battlefield victory.
Brock cleared his throat, "Someone important is here to see you."
The argument stopped instantly.
Quentin vanished from the surface so quickly that Nolan almost stumbled.
He coughed into his fist, lowered the sword and carefully placed it on the desk as though nothing unusual had happened.
"And who might that be?"
"Ra's."
Nolan's expression immediately hardened.
The playful irritation disappeared from his face.
"Very well. Bring him in."
Brock nodded and disappeared through the door.
Nolan looked down at the sword.
He had forgotten how to change it back.
For several seconds, he stared at the blade with growing annoyance before finally shrugging. If drawing the sword had transformed it, perhaps sheathing it would reverse the process.
He held the blade downward and mimicked the motion of returning it to a scabbard.
A satisfying metallic shing echoed through the office.
The sword collapsed back into the familiar cane.
Nolan blinked, "You have got to be kidding me."
He set the cane beside his desk and lowered himself into his chair just as a knock sounded at the door.
"Come in."
The door opened, and Ra's al Ghul stepped inside with Brock following several paces behind him. Ra's carried himself with the same quiet confidence he always seemed to possess, as though every room he entered already belonged to him and everyone inside simply had not realized it yet.
"Kieran," Ra's greeted.
Nolan's expression shifted effortlessly into Kieran's familiar smile.
"Ra's. It's good to see you again."
Ra's took the chair opposite him.
"I've come to see if you have reconsidered our earlier discussion."
Kieran chuckled softly.
"Straight to business. I like that about you."
Ra's waited.
Kieran leaned back in his chair and studied him for a moment.
"I like you, Ra's. Truly. You have an excellent eye for business, your people have generally been respectful of my rules, and unlike many powerful men I've encountered, you understand the value of patience." His smile remained pleasant, but there was steel underneath it. "Unfortunately, you're asking me to jeopardize something I've spent years building."
"Neutrality."
"Exactly."
Ra's leaned back.
"You believe neutrality will protect you forever?"
"No." Kieran's smile widened. "I believe neutrality gives me options. There's a rather significant difference."
Ra's studied him.
"You refuse me, then?"
"I refuse to become an ally of the League at this moment, I told you previously I have some ideas but right now they aren't feasible."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Ra's eyes narrowed.
"Do you believe denying me is wise?"
Kieran's smile never faltered.
"I won't take that as a threat, Ra's. I really won't, because I don't think you're foolish enough to threaten me over a business arrangement." He leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees. "You see, neutrality isn't my only concern. As I said, I like you. But your friends?"
Kieran's smile thinned.
"Some of them aren't particularly to my taste."
For the first time, Ra's expression changed.
"You're more informed than I expected."
"Information is the most valuable commodity in the world."
"And you believe you possess enough of it to threaten me?"
"I'm not threatening you."
Kieran's voice became softer.
"I'm reminding you that I have survived every person who believed they could force me into a corner."
Silence settled between them.
"If you're hell-bent on reducing this to either working with you or working against you," Kieran continued, "then I beg you, Ra's, consider the ruins I've left behind me on my way to reaching this point."
Ra's studied him for several seconds before a low laugh escaped him, "Are you comparing me to the Court of Owls?"
Kieran laughed with him.
"No. I'm asking you not to become another lesson."
The two men held each other's gaze.
Eventually, Ra's stood.
"You are an interesting man, Kieran Everleigh."
"I've been told."
Ra's turned toward the door.
"We'll speak again."
"I imagine we will."
The door closed behind him. Kieran's smile remained in place for another few seconds.
Then it disappeared.
Inside his mind, Nolan spoke quietly, "That could have gone worse."
Quentin answered with a humorless chuckle.
"It could also have gone much better."
Kieran looked toward the cane sitting beside his desk.
For once, even he had no clever remark.
****
Dre belched loudly and sank deeper into the hotel mattress.
"Now this is the life."
The television played some terrible daytime drama that Dre had become inexplicably invested in, though he would have denied caring about it if anyone asked. His leg was elevated, his ribs were still wrapped, and the painkillers were finally doing their job well enough that he could enjoy being comfortable.
He hadn't seen the Arrow in days.
That was probably a good thing.
Dre scratched his beard and reached for the remote.
"Guess boss really did give them something else to worry about."
He settled back into the pillows.
Somewhere, Nolan was probably doing exactly what he was doing.
Except Nolan would almost certainly have some absurdly expensive fruity drink in his hand.
Dre smiled.
"Man, I need to get that recipe without him knowing, or Amanda knowing that would be a disaster."
"Oh and Marcy and Naima got to keep my rep up."
"Oh and… fuck I'm never having that drink am I."
****
The teenager stared at the screen until the words began to blur together.
She had been sitting there for hours, surrounded by digital records, photographs, financial documents and reports that had taken weeks to assemble. Every new piece of information should have made the decision easier.
Instead, it had made it harder.
Beth rubbed her tired eyes and scrolled back through the files again.
Kieran Everleigh.
The name appeared over and over.
Hotel owner. Businessman. Philanthropist. Crime lord, according to some sources. Manipulator, according to others. A man who had somehow built an organization capable of spreading across multiple cities while remaining almost impossible to properly identify.
There were conflicting accounts of him everywhere.
Some described him as generous.
Others described him as terrifying.
Some called him a criminal.
Others insisted he was simply a businessman who had become involved with the wrong people.
She closed the laptop.
"I want to do it."
The figure beside her immediately turned toward her.
"I want to see him."
"I don't think that's a good idea, Beth."
She looked over.
"He's dangerous."
"I know."
"He's manipulative."
"I know."
The figure sighed, "Then why are you doing this?"
Beth stared at the closed laptop, "Because." She sighed, "I want to see if he's changed at all."