1966.

The sun shone brightly on the steps of Titan City Hall, where three men stood at the podium — Kelly Winchester, the Crimson Wraith, and the Wily Wisp. In their hoods and domino masks, the costumed crimefighters’ smiles were as broad as their spandex-covered chests; and on those chests, the Crimson Wraith bore the image of a white skull while the Wily Wisp wore a purple letter “W.” 

Officers of the TCPD and government officials stood at their side, and before them gathered members of the press and citizens who had taken the morning off of work to witness the ascension of one of the most beloved public figures of their lifetime as he swore his oath of office as mayor of Titan City. Cheers followed, and Mayor Winchester approached the microphone.

“Eleven years ago, I began my career serving the proud and hard-working people of Titan City. And on the night of my election, I met a man at midnight, a man who some thought a villain, but whom I knew to be a hero. 

“And this man said the most amazing thing to me. He said, ‘Mr. Winchester, you are my hero. You have given me the courage to change my ways.’ That was the night the Crimson Wraith stepped out of the shadows and into the light, to join us in making Titan City the greatest city the world has ever known!”

The Crimson Wraith stepped toward the microphone. For years now, his adventures with the Wily Wisp had gone from being hushed rumors to a feature of regular news broadcasts, which showed the defender of the defenseless and his sidekick foiling robberies, reuniting children with lost pets, and assisting the elderly as they crossed Titan City’s streets.

“Mayor Winchester,” said the Crimson Wraith, “it has been an honor to fight alongside you for over a decade now, showing the good people of Titan City that right is right and…” 

Suddenly a terrible shriek of feedback cut through his words. He winced and then recovered. “I’m sorry. It seems we are having some technical…” 

Again a blast erupted from the speakers, but this time it did not stop. The piercing electronic scream persisted, becoming louder and louder. It rippled through the air, forcing all those in attendance, even the Crimson Wraith and Wily Wisp, to drop to their knees, hands over their ears.

Through the writhing crowd strode men dressed as Roman centurions, wearing masks with the exaggerated, clownish features of the Italian commedia dell’arte. Each had a pair of ear muffs to protect them from the sound. 

Their leader followed in toga and golden laurels. The nose of his Capitano mask stretched long above his mustachioed grin, the costume of none other than Titan City’s notorious playwright of peril — the Troubador. 

As his centurions removed the sidearms from police officers lost to sonic suffering, the Troubador took center stage at the podium, where lifted a series of cue cards above his head. FRIENDS, read the first. ROMANS, read the second, COUNTRYMEN, the third. And finally, LEND ME YOUR WALLETS. 

Centurions began bagging up billfolds and purses, as the Troubadour turned his attention to the Crimson Wraith. From within his toga, he pulled another sign and held it before the Scarlet Stranger’s face. MISS ME, MY NEMESIS?

Satisfaction shone in the grin underneath the Troubadour’s mask, as the Crimson Wraith rolled in agony. But then he slowed and stilled. He looked up at the Troubadour, showing no pain, just a wry little smile as the triumph on the Troubadour’s face melted into confusion. Then the Crimson Wraith tapped his ears, where had inserted a pair of plugs from his belt pouch without being noticed. Then, before the Troubadour could react, the Crimson Wraith kicked upward, sending him staggering. 

The Troubadour had not noticed the Wily Wisp sneaking up to get on all fours behind the Troubadour’s legs, and he toppled over the Crimson Wraith’s sidekick. As he tumbled down the City Hall steps, he lost his earmuffs and his toga unraveled to reveal the Renaissance blouse and breeches that were the Troubadour’s typical costume.

As he staggered to his feet, ears unprotected, the Troubadour waved his arms wildly toward the two Centurions who had hijacked the sound system. “Turn it off!” he screamed, “Turn it off your fools! A plague on both your houses!” 

Although his words could not be heard over the deafening noise, they saw his flailing and shut off the sound. Slowly, the crowd began to recover.

The Crimson Wraith and Wily Wisp bounded down the steps after the Troubadour, who leaped onto one of three horse-drawn chariots, where all the collected wallets and purses had been placed in two heavy sacks. 

“A fine performance, Crimson Wraith,” said the Troubadour, bowing, “But forgive me if I do not stay for the curtain call.” He grabbed hold of the reins, and the chariot surged forward, carrying the Troubadour away.

“Hurry, Wily Wisp!” said the Crimson Wraith. “We can’t let the Troubadour get away!” He pointed to the two remaining chariots, waiting, presumably, for the Troubadour’s henchmen to make their escape.

“It’s a good thing there was a showing of Ben-Hur last week at Titan University!” The Wily Wisp said as he took the reins of one chariot.

“That it is, dearest friend,” said the Crimson Wraith, mounting the other. “A good education is never not rewarded.”

Their horses whinnied, and began chasing after the Troubadour. Without the weight of the ill-gotten wealth the criminal carried, the Crimson Wraith and Wily Wisp gained swiftly on their foe, turning South down First Avenue, then West on Dozier. 

Traffic screeched to a halt around them as cars swerved to avoid the chase. A small child wandered into the street, chasing a bouncing red rubber ball, and all three charioteers veered sharply to keep from running over him. They came alongside a sausage cart, and the Troubadour grabbed one with mustard and onions right out of the vendor’s hand.

“My sausage!” he gasped.

But the Crimson Wraith clapped a dollar bill in the vendor’s empty palm as he passed. “Keep the change, citizen!”

Finally, it seemed the Crimson Wraith and Wily Wisp were closing in, when the Troubadour, looking back to them, cried, “I’ll end with a jade’s trick!” and pulled a pair of rubber snakes from inside his doublet. “Best beware my sting, Crimson Wraith!”

He tossed them back into the path of the other two horses, who reared so violently that they overturned their chariots and sent the Crimson Wraith and Wily Wisp sprawling to the pavement.

“Your steeds are infirm of purpose!” laughed the Troubadour, and he sped off, down the Titan City Streets.

The Wily Wisp punched his own palm in frustration. “We’ve lost him!”

“Maybe,” said the Crimson Wraith, “But maybe not for good. Look, when he threw those two rubber snakes, he must have pulled this piece of paper out of his pocket as well.” The Crimson Wraith picked up something pink with a torn edge.

“It looks like part of a business card!” said the Wily Wisp. “But the words are torn in half! All it says is ‘Nap… No…’ We’ve got a puzzle with pieces missing!”

“Quick, dearest friend, to the Crypt! Let’s see what our new supercomputer can do to fill in those blanks.”

Back in the secret lair of the Crimson Wraith, where the great skull archway overlooked the stairs to Finn Manor above, the unmasked Crimson Wraith and Wily Wisp, Edward Finn and his companion Tommy James, set to work on the clue that the Troubadour had left behind. They were greeted by Edward’s housekeeper Mrs. Chumley. 

“You two had quite the exciting morning, didn’t you? Figured you might have worked up an appetite and all, so I fixed you sandwiches and lemonade.”

“Peanut butter and jelly? Oh, boy!” Tommy exclaimed. “And with the crusts cut off!”

“Just the way you like it, dearie.”

Although he was now in his early twenties, there remained something boyish about Tommy. “Thanks, Mrs. C!”

Edward smiled. “You always take such good care of us, Miss Chumley.”

He saw then a pinch between her brows, the momentary flinch of something troubling the housekeeper, but with the Troubadour on the move, Edward did not stop to ask. 

Candace Chumley had stayed on after Chubby passed away from a heart attack in 1963. He was only fifty years old. They never had any children together. Finn Manor was their home, and the Finns, their family. So, Candace kept on serving. Although she remained dutifully cheerful, Edward could see the weight of mourning never left her. She seemed to weaken more and more from the strain of it.

He had lost his own father that same year to pneumonia, but William Finn had not lived in Finn Manor for years. Traveling at Sylvia’s side, he had set out to see the world beyond Titan City for the first time since becoming the Crimson Wraith, confident that Edward had both Finn Industries and the mission to defend the defenseless well in hand. 

When William fell ill, the happy couple had been in a Swiss chalet on a skiing holiday. Edward had been solving the riddles of the Puzzle Prince to recover a diamond collar stolen off the wire fox terrier who had won Best in Show from the Titan Fine Breeding Society. He only arrived to see his father on his very last day.

On his deathbed, William Finn said to his son, his sidekick, and his successor, “Be happy. Please. For me. Always, the mission has meant so much to you, but I want you to remember to smile. Remember to love.” Those were his final words, “Remember to love.” 

The Crypt’s supercomputer compared the letters on the torn card the Troubadour had dropped with every name in the Titan City phonebook, analyzing thousands of entries in a matter of minutes before finally giving out the only one that it could be. Tommy took the card it printed out with the answer and read it aloud. “Napier’s Noses? I’ve never heard of it.”

Edward said, “A costume shop, dearest friend, one that specializes in false noses for every occasion.”

“The money he made off with today could buy a whole lot of noses for a whole lot of occasions.”

Edward thought for a moment. “Or one very big nose.”

“But why?”

“Think, Tommy. Did you recognize his parting words to us?”

“He said that he would end with a ‘jade’s trick’ then said to beware his sting, and he called our horses ‘infirm of purpose.’”

“Exactly. Do you recognize those turns of phrase?”

“They sound like Shakespeare, but I don’t know from what plays. Anyway, the Troubadour is always talking like that.”

“You had better sign up for more theatre classes next semester to brush up your Shakespeare.”

“I will! But what were the plays?”

“In Much Ado About Nothing, Beatrice accuses Benedict of ending a battle of wits with a ‘jade’s trick.’ In the Taming of the Shrew, Katherina says to her suitor Petruchio, ‘If I be waspish, best beware my sting.’ And when MacBeth doubts his initial plan to kill King Duncan, his wife, Lady MacBeth, calls him ‘infirm of purpose.’”

“Wow,” said Tommy. “You really remember all that?”

“A good education…” said Edward.

“I know,” said Tommy. “Is never not rewarded. But what does all that mean?”

“Psychology tells us that the words we speak casually can reveal unspoken intentions. Beatrice, Katherina, and Lady MacBeth are all strong female characters, some of the greatest women in all of Shakespeare. Now, who is the greatest woman in Titan City?”

“You’ve got me there. I mean, Miss Chumley is pretty great, sure…”

“Not great in terms of character, but great in terms of size.”

“The Spirit of Prosperity!”

“Exactly! And a false nose for a woman of that size would be very expensive indeed…”