Chapter Text
Evil begins when you begin to treat people as things.
( Terry Pratchett, I Shall Wear Midnight )
Ed knew that his attendance at the Yule Ball was what made him known to those who mattered, but somehow seeing his name at the front page of the morning paper made it more concrete. He wondered if they had heard yet, Granny and Winry and his mother. None of them made a habit of reading the paper. He already knew what they would think—they would be disappointed, or angry, in Winry’s case—and yet he still could not help but imagine it.
“Fitz, so predictable,” Roy chuckled, glancing at the article over his shoulder. A plate of fancy toast appeared in front of Ed. “It’s nice to have him around, we can always rely on him to fan the flames just the right way.”
“Friend of yours?” Ed asked, inspecting the special breakfast Roy had prepared: eggs whisked with crème fraiche and chives, scrambled on a skillet with melted butter, draped artfully over perfectly golden triangles of toast, with thinly sliced portions of smoked salmon on top. It took less than twenty minutes to prepare but looked beautiful and delicious, indeed cheerful, pink and yellow, the colours of a rising sun.
“No, although I’ve met the man several times. If I befriend him, his usefulness wanes. His words are only worth what they are because people know I do not relish associating with him—”
“—and therefore, whatever good he says about you must be true, because he has no reason otherwise to flatter you. I see,” Ed smirked, taking a bite out of his breakfast. It was beautiful, but not so much that he couldn’t bear to put it in his mouth.
Roy sat across from him, smiling in approval at Ed’s deduction. “You’ll be alright taking the tram to Headquarters by yourself?”
“I’m 12, not 2,” Ed rolled his eyes. Roy’s paranoia had only mildly decreased since that incident. “Besides, if I came along with you, what would I do there for two whole hours? I’d die of boredom.”
“I somehow doubt that, but as you say. They should have your name listed at the gates. If there is any trouble, refer them to my office.”
Ed nodded along. Roy would leave with Maes at his usual time in order to be at work by eight. Ed, however, did not have an appointment until ten. According to his introductory letter—delivered with surprising haste to their door by a cadet yesterday evening—he was to report to the Registry Office in Internal Affairs in order to get his identity verified and his fingerprints logged. That would take about half an hour, after which he was expected to report to his commanding officer, a certain Colonel Roy Mustang, for further instructions.
“Apart from my birth certificate, do I need to bring anything else?”
“Patience,” Roy said, “for Internal Affairs. They can be efficient… when they want to be, but it is never guaranteed. Also, your favourite pen. You’ll be doing a lot of signing today.”
Nose wrinkling in distaste, Ed stuffed another mouthful of fancy toast into his mouth. It could be worse, he supposed, I could have been assigned to someone else.
Ah, but your Colonel has orchestrated everything such that they would have no choice but to give you to him, the Gate pointed out, swishing its tail behind its fluffy, shadowy roundness.
Roy orchestrates all the things, Ed agreed with a sidelong glance at the paper next to his elbow.
“Your brother and master will have read that by now, surely.” Roy’s comment was quiet and cautious this time. Ed and Al spoke last night over the phone, but the conversation was quick and too excited for everything else left unsaid.
“Al won’t take the exams until he feels he’s ready,” Ed said. “He’s not like me; he waits and thinks it through. Maybe next year or the year after that, but there’s no telling with Al, and master won’t let him go that easily either.”
“That wasn’t what I meant,” Roy clarified, meeting his gaze with dark, knowing eyes.
Ed ducked his head. They were getting to know each other too well to hide these things. “I know,” he said in a small voice. “It’s fine. I made my decision. There’s no turning back.”
Roy reached over the table then, placing a warm hand on his head and smoothing back his loose hair. “I swear to you that you’ll never be alone against them; I’ll do everything in my power and more to protect you. You will be with me and only me; I won’t allow them to reassign you to anyone else. We won’t give them any excuse to reassign you to anyone else.”
Ed nodded, steeling himself. Thoughts of his mother always brought doubt into his heart, but these days those thoughts came rarely if at all, and without so much grief anymore. “In return, I promise,” Ed met Roy’s eyes, “I won’t let you lose sight.”
Roy froze.
Ed took Roy’s wrist in hand and continued, “Hawkeye might be the one watching and waiting to put a bullet in your head if you lose your marbles or become a tyrant, but I’ll—I won’t even let it get there. I’ll be here to remind you of where it all started. We do this together now. Equivalent exchange.”
A slow smile dawned upon Roy’s face; in solidarity, Roy clasped his arm back. “Together, then.”
“Or not at all,” Ed agreed. After all, their goals were too lofty to aim for alone.
Roy left that morning with a smile, clasping the back of Ed’s neck with affection before he walked out of the house. Ed locked up after him and went upstairs to dress, contemplating this warm dynamic that was morphing and evolving between them. Roy was like the collaborator Ed never knew he wanted, for he had always been an independent mind; Roy was also simultaneously the equivalent counterpart Al could never become. Al was his partner, his rival, and moreover, his precious brother; Roy came from a different place altogether. He knew enough that he could be Ed’s teacher, except he didn’t always teach, instead learning and teaching with Ed at the same time.
He was also, more than anything now, Ed’s closest friend, the one person outside of Al who had earned his trust so wholly that Ed could tell him anything and everything. Ed wanted Roy’s attention, needed his reciprocation, and trusted his opinion. Perhaps it was unhealthy to crave so much of one person’s time and regard, but Ed grew up in a small family and he was accustomed to having just one or two people within his innermost community. Now that he and Al were separated, it left him and Roy.
It would be too much to assume that Roy thought of him the same way; Roy was a grown man and had a prolific social life besides. It would be nice, though, to have and keep his trust in return. Not the superficial kind, but the true kind: the kind not borne of obligation, the kind that would compel a man to ignore boundaries and break rules.
He already ignored the boundaries and broke the rules for you, the Gate pointed out, flicking the memory of Dr. Geralds’ corpse before his eyes. I daresay you already have his trust.
That would be nice, Ed thought, as he undressed, washed, and dried his hair with a clap.
He had picked out his clothes yesterday after much deliberation. Appearances were, after all, part of that crucial first impression. He put on black trousers Roy had gotten tailored for him, not the overly formal kind but the ones that were more flexible and made for movement. Over a buttoned shirt, he fastened a black vest, fitted to his shoulders and tapering around his waist. If he wore gloves to conceal his hands, the vest would help conceal the line of his shoulder ports; the same consideration applied to his shoes. He wore black waterproofed Chelsea boots and hid his Sanz knife in a sheath he alchemised into the leather. Finally, to keep him warm, he chose the coat Al, Izumi, and Sig gave him as a birthday gift: it was double-breasted and made of waterproofed wool (alchemy!), warm but lightweight and with lots of crafty hidden pockets. Obviously expensive and of fine make, he knew it would last him a while, which was good, because it was also in his favourite colour: a vibrant, eye-catching cardinal red.
Al reportedly waterproofed the wool and customised the pockets, knowing his preferences better than Izumi, but Al could not have afforded something like this on his own. Not yet, at least, not until Al became employed or signed up to work for the state. No, this was from Izumi and Sig. It was a very nice present, fitting as a commencement gift from a mentor to a student. And although the sentiment was not put into words, Ed knew what the gift meant when he saw that Izumi’s symbol was not on the back. Because they had parted ways, Ed choosing a different path than the one Izumi wanted him to walk, he was declaring himself independent of her and no longer a student. With the severance of that relationship, he lost the right to wear her symbol. The next time they meet, they would approach each other as equals—alchemist to alchemist.
And the style of it, the Gate pointed out, looks like the double-breasted coats the military men wear. Your teacher is being very pointed!
It’s Izumi. She’s always pointed. But the Gate was right. Come to think of it, the coat did look like the ones Roy and Maes wore, although without the pins, stripes, and epaulettes. Well, that’s fine. I am part of the military now. I need to embrace it. We do not turn away from the truth.
No, we don’t, the Gate agreed with pleasure. Besides, look at you!
Ed looked at himself in the mirror, marvelling at the difference clothes made. He already felt ten times more confident than he did ten minutes ago. He looked good, very good in fact: older, taller (he loved the boots), more certain, even commanding.
He nodded to himself. “We’re ready.” The Gate agreed.
Before long, he left the house, double-checking that the doors were locked. He led Dog across the yard to Gracia’s house. She complimented the coat first thing and offered him a hug second, reminding him of what she had said at the Yule Ball months ago. “Remember, they’re only as intimidating as you allow them to be.”
Grinning, Ed hugged her back. How lucky he was to have Gracia in his life. “Thanks, Gracia. See you later, little lady,” he nuzzled against Elysia’s little nose.
“Tell Roy to take it easy on you since it’s your first day,” Gracia bid, nudging Dog inside with a push of her leg. “Have fun, Ed!”
“Oh, I will!” Ed laughed as he walked away.
After all, it wasn’t every day that one became a State Alchemist.
On the tram, no one paid him much attention; he was just another passenger, another soul amongst the multitude. Ed felt simultaneously relieved and apprehensive. Perhaps the pictures in the papers weren’t of a very good angle, but people weren’t outright recognising him. He took it as the start of a good day.
At the Headquarters, it was a different story. The soldiers immediately addressed him by name, opening the iron gates with much gawking and comical haste. He nodded to them, not knowing what else to say, and followed the instructions to the Internal Affairs Registry Office. It was a bit of a long walk.
They’re all looking at you, the Gate giggled, and your red coat doesn’t help!
Ed squared his jaw. I don’t give a shit. This coat is a gift; I wear it with pride.
You missed my point but sure. The Gate sounded happy and cooperative today, nudging his attention towards little details that brought Ed to this absurd new reality he was to live in.
When he took the stairs to the main hall’s front doors, people parted in front of him with a bit of a hush. Soldiers who were hurrying along slowed to a stop, craning their necks to take a good look. He heard the whispers loud and clear: ‘Is that him?’ and ‘youngest ever in history’ and ‘I heard his practical was brutally hard’ and ‘the Fuhrer liked him a lot, maybe because he’s young’—all of Central command was talking, and it took all of Ed to keep a straight face, to march along like he meant business.
I do mean business, he frowned, I’m one of them now.
You outrank many of them, the Gate pointed out. Ed’s eyes caught epaulettes with differing colours, ribbons, and the flash of an occasional silver watch.
I’m gonna have to learn that, he took note. It would be useful to know who he could order around on sight.
He stopped in front of tall white doors, checking that the plaque beside it read the right number and name. When he stepped inside, more of the same attention: the entire room fell into a hush.
“Excuse me, good morning,” he blinked, looking to the nearest lady, who looked like a nice enough receptionist despite her gaping at him like a fish. “I have an appointment for ten o’clock. The name’s Edward Elric.”
It took the receptionist lady a moment to respond. “O-Of course, er, yes, er, good morning, please, yes, Mr. Elric, please take a seat. We will, er, call your name shortly.” She motioned to the far side of the room, where two rows of chairs were half-occupied with soldiers and recruits who also had appointments. If Ed wasn’t mistaken, two of them were among his cohort yesterday. Thank fuck that supremacist girl isn’t here, or I’ll have to have words, he thought darkly.
He took a seat as instructed; the receptionist was making a phone call now, trying to keep her voice down without much effect. “—yes, sir, he, um, Mr. Edward Elric has just arrived, and I was told—yes, sir. I understand.”
Well, everyone inside Headquarters definitely read the papers. That, or the grapevine was more efficient than Ed thought. The windfall of it was that he only had to wait for five minutes before his name was called and a squat, grumpy-looking soldier escorted him through a door into a long hallway. He was brought to a small office where the soldier sat behind a desk laden with paperwork.
“Please close the door behind you and take a seat, Mr. Elric. My name is Sergeant Rudhelm. I will be processing your registration today.”
Ed sat.
Sergeant Rudhelm was brisk and matter-of-fact, something Ed appreciated very much. This would have been very awkward if someone like the receptionist was made to process his registration instead. He was asked to present his birth certificate and identification, of which copies were made and placed into his personnel file. He filled out a lengthy form asking for a variety of information: height, weight, address, telephone number, place of birth, next of kin (he put Roy), secondary emergency contact (he put Maes), and their contact information. It also asked for an outstanding medical history, including vaccination, which he had no problems with until he got to the part that asked about automail.
Train track accident, he reinforced his own fabricated story, carefully writing out a succinct explanation that would not lead them to suspect an attempt at forbidden alchemy. He had to be consistent, in case someone thought to check.
After that form, Sergeant Rudhelm took impressions of his fingerprints and photographs for the file. The last form he was given asked about banking information, for which Ed had to refer to a note Roy had written out for him last night.
“Er, I just opened this bank account yesterday afternoon, and they said to let you know that when you call, they might not find my name updated in their index yet. They gave me this reference number,” Ed read out a string of digits the State Bank had given him.
“That will be no problem,” Sergeant Rudhelm grunted. “Didn’t expect you’d have much need of a bank account before all this.”
Ed blinked. “…will I need to do anything on my end?”
“Give them a call in a week to verify that they have our information; we will send you a notice through your CO’s desk that the link is confirmed. Your salary will be deposited monthly and available for withdrawal on the third Monday of each month.”
“I understand. Thank you.”
Sergeant Rudhelm saw him back to the receptionist desk, holding the door open for him with a nod. “The Criminal Investigations Division is on the fourth and fifth floors of Building 3. Follow this hallway until you exit, and the building will be right in front of you, facing north. Colonel Mustang’s offices are towards the back; you’ll know you’re there if you see that the plaques on the wall start with P1.”
Back to the hallways he went, where people continued to crane their necks to get a look at him. Ed wanted to tell them that he would be here quite often, that this would not be the only time for them to see the youngest State Alchemist in history, but then that would require talking to them, and who wanted to do that? Instead, he screwed on a stoic expression and made sure not to walk any faster; it wouldn’t do to be thought of as running away.
You never know who the predators are, Ed recalled an old lesson from Izumi, so you should never let them see your weakness.
The impression you create becomes you, the Gate nodded wisely in agreement. The smell of fear is the smell of prey.>
He emerged into a small garden, the green square bisected with brick paths that reflected the spring sun. Nearby, he could smell the fresh waters of the Rheos river, indicating that he was indeed on the north side of the Headquarters. There were walls, however, preventing him from seeing outside. The walls were thick and had to be at least four stories high. Atop them were soldiers marching along the periphery, on guard for any threat, and every few hundred meters were sentinel towers equipped with outward-pointing cannons and other artillery. It seemed rather over-paranoid given Central’s peaceful history.
Amestris was not created with complacence, the Gate pointed out.
No, Ed agreed, Amestrian Fuhrers are generally not complacent folk.
Building 3 was large but very plain, sporting a massive Amestrian flag draped across its front. The stairs were central and wide, with a directory next to it on the wall. Ed found that Roy’s offices would indeed be on the fifth floor, so he began climbing, half-jogging up the stairs in order to avoid appearing late. He had met most of Roy’s command team though, which took some of the tension away from his shoulders. They were good people. Roy handpicked them himself.
Outside Roy’s doors, which looked like every other door in the long hallway, the plaque read COL. MUSTANG – Criminal Investigations – Priority 1 Division. The people who made these plaques must hate Roy very much, for he necessitated a new one every year with the rapid succession of his promotions. Ed knocked on the doors.
“Door’s open, come in,” said a familiar voice; Ed peeked in with a small wave.
“Hello,” he said. Every head in the small room rose to greet him.
“Oy, he’s here! Hey, Ed!” Kain Fuery came forward, holding the door open for him with a grin. “You came just in time!”
“In time for what? I wasn’t given a specific time, Roy just said to come as soon as Internal Affairs released me,” Ed frowned as he stepped in. He had just a moment to note the general layout of the large room—a long table and chairs to the left, underneath wide windows; shelves, cabinets, and counters to the right, looming over two paper-laden desks; a tea-and-coffee station next to the door, where the special coffee machine sat; a door straight ahead of him with Roy’s name on it—and then Jean Havoc took him by the shoulders to steer him onwards.
“The boss has guests who are here for you. In you go, we’ll say hi later,” Havoc said, patting him twice on the shoulders just as scary-lady Hawkeye rapped sharply on Roy’s office door.
“Major Elric is here, sir,” Hawkeye said, looking Ed over with a critical eye.
What? What’s going on?
“Send him in,” Roy called out from inside the room. Ed could tell the tension from his voice. Hawkeye opened the door and held it for Ed, who cautiously stepped in to—
Oh, Ed blinked in surprise. A guest.
Fuhrer Bradley stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back even as he turned to greet Ed with his usual kindly smile. Roy stood behind his desk, looking quite nonplussed. This was unusual, then. Before the door could close behind Ed, the Fuhrer’s aide, an unassuming middle-aged woman, walked out with her head dipped low. It left only the three of them inside the quiet room.
“Er, good morning, sir,” Ed greeted, unsure what else he was supposed to say. A quick glance at Roy communicated his confusion. “I’d salute but I don’t know how.”
“Quite alright, you’re new, after all. May I offer my congratulations? I was quite impressed, young Edward, and dare I say delighted to have you as one of my alchemists. Your title is well-deserved,” the Fuhrer offered Ed his hand, which Ed took with every bit of grace and care Roy had hammered into him.
“Thank you, sir, I… am sure I’ll earn your confidence.” He threw another glance at Roy, who remained carefully impassive.
“I wanted to be here to hand you your title in person, especially with how much thought I have had to put into it. Sit,” the Fuhrer motioned, taking one of the two chairs in front of Roy’s desk. Ed took the other, ensuring that his behind touched the chair only after the Fuhrer himself and Roy were already seated. Decorum, and all that. The Fuhrer then handed him a large envelope that was resting on the edge of Roy’s desk. “Here you go, then. Tell me what you think of it.”
Ed gingerly took the envelope, inside of which was a beautiful certificate in heavy vellum, embossed in gold and with the Amestrian rampant lion on top.
The State Alchemical Review Committee of Amestris hereby recognises
Mr. Edward Elric
as a State Alchemist and awards him the title
PROTEAN ALCHEMIST
with all the rights, privileges, and honours therein pertaining this title, given this fourth day of April, year 1907 in Central City.
Below, it carried three signatures: Dr. Aldheim, the chair of the State Alchemical Review Committee; Minister Lebensbrun, the civilian Prime Minister; and King Bradley, the Fuhrer himself. But what had his attention was the title.
Protean, Ed mouthed the word. The Gate crooned at it, tail lashing in pleasure. An Amestrian word derived from a Xerxian one. Poroteu, it whispered to Ed, an old name. It evolved into protogonos, which means primordial. It means firstborn. The word trembled with power through the Gate’s voice, gravid with meaning he could not yet grasp.
“Protean, from the old Xerxian myths, right?” Ed glanced at Roy. “Poroteu, the ancient sea god who brought the storms from the skies, who swept ships aground with his winds and changed the shore itself with his waves.”
Roy nodded, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table and steeple his fingers in front of his face. “Poroteu was among the oldest of the gods in ancient Xerxian mythology. By the time of their demise, they were no longer superstitious people, but they did have their mythology, like any ancient culture of that time. Poroteu was said to inhabit many forms: an old man, a young man, not a man at all but a fish, or the water itself. He was mutable and versatile, and in this versatility he was powerful. Because of this trait, he became their symbol for wisdom, for it was wisdom to recognise and accept the impermanence of all things in life. The precious life-giving characteristics of water elevated him to a position of even higher esteem: he became a symbol for alchemy—then primitive but still a method of changing one thing into another—he became a symbol for the perfection of the art itself.”
The Fuhrer reclined into his own chair, smile widening. Ed suddenly recalled how the Fuhrer had asked him, during the practical, to pull water from the air.
“A fine choice, sir,” Roy tipped his head towards the Fuhrer. “I did wonder what you would decide, but I could not have picked out a better title.”
“With technique like yours,” the Fuhrer said to Ed, “so adaptable and capable of many types of transmutation instead of a specialised few, you will achieve great things. Whatever it is that manages to hold your interest will develop into a project that will better Amestris, of that I have no doubt. In truth, I care not of the specifics of your proposals, only that you continue to grow and learn and actively contribute in whatever way you choose, Edward Elric. With all due to respect to Colonel Mustang here, I do believe you are the finest alchemist I have met in my lifetime.”
“I wholeheartedly agree, sir, no offence taken,” Roy smirked.
“W-uh, thank you, I think? Um. This—this is great,” Ed stuttered, still holding the paper with his two hands. He gingerly replaced it in the envelope, trying not to crease the edges. “The Protean Alchemist. I like the sound of it.”
“Excellent,” the Fuhrer nodded. “I am glad to hear it. You will continue to remain with Colonel Mustang for as long as you will both have each other. When he is promoted once again, you will remain with his command, I will see to it. Colonel Mustang will have the details of your grant and clearance level. Should you have need of anything beyond what he can manage for you, come directly to me. Although with the Colonel’s considerable guile and resources, he is proving himself quite capable without my help. But I know potential when I see it, and I am not getting any younger.”
“Sir,” Roy acknowledged with a dip of his head.
The Fuhrer then rose, prompting both Roy and Ed to their feet as well. “I shall leave the two of you to it, then.”
“Sir,” Roy saluted; Ed straightened but did not try to copy him.
“Thank you, sir,” Ed looked up at the Fuhrer, who for some reason seemed to favour him outright. Why do you like me so much? What’s in it for you?
The Fuhrer nodded and then strode out, prompting stiff salutes from all of Roy’s command. All of them remained standing until he was well gone, and the door closed behind them.
“Fuck,” Roy eloquently swore, collapsing loudly into his chair behind Ed.
“Everything okay, boss?” Breda asked from the long table, hand braced on a pile of paperwork.
“Yeah,” Roy waved a hand, dismissing their concern. “Shit just surprised the hell out of me. Walking into my office without so much as a warning, who does he think he is?”
“The Fuhrer,” Ed drily pointed out, sitting back down. “We’re technically on his property.”
Roy grunted.
“Why does he like me so much?” Ed asked, choosing to voice his confusion. “What’s in it for him? I mean, he doesn’t look stupid; he must know you’re after his position. And yet he comes in here and hands us a free pass, pretty much. I don’t get it. What’s his game?”
“A free pass?” Breda echoed.
“You didn’t just get promoted again, did you,” Havoc frowned.
“The Fuhrer isn’t stupid,” Falman muttered as an aside.
“No, he’s not,” Roy sighed, “and that’s why he likes you, Ed. He can see your value. He knows you’re loyal to me and therefore that increases my value. He’ll support us because we’re the winning hand he can wield whenever he wants to.”
“Even if it means letting you get closer?” Ed asked.
“Friends close, enemies closer,” Roy pointed out. “He can watch me better.”
“More like he can groom you better,” Ed snorted, “I mean, you heard him. He practically declared you his heir.”
“If I don’t fuck it up. That was as much a warning as it was a compliment.”
“My head hurts,” Ed declared. “I want something sweet.”
Roy chuckled. “That machine is capable of spitting out hot water and there is hot cocoa mix in the drawer. Help yourself. We’ll discuss your papers as soon as I’m not in danger of having a heart attack.”
Ed rose to go to the machine at once, where a smiling Kain Fuery met him with a poorly wrapped gift. He blinked in surprise. “What’s this?”
“Our congratulations gift! Welcome to the crew, Ed! We can call you Ed, right?”
“That is my name, it’d be awkward if you called me something else, and you really didn’t have to, thanks!” Ed tore into the paper, revealing a red coffee mug with a large letter E on it. “This is great!”
“Everyone has one,” Fuery pointed out; there were two clean mugs on the counter next to the coffee machine, one with a letter R and another with a letter V. “Boss’ mug is the blue R; Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye’s mug is the yellow R.”
“Got it,” Ed nodded, grinning even as he turned the mug around in his hands. Time for hot chocolate, then.
“Man, I really didn’t think you’d fucking pass,” Havoc was now kicked back in his chair. Ed turned and raised an eyebrow, since his hot water was still gurgling inside the machine—and then, spotting the coat hooks on the wall on the other side of the door, Ed went to remove his coat.
“You will watch your language, First Lieutenant,” Hawkeye warned with narrowed eyes.
Havoc straightened in his chair. “Yes, ma’am, sorry, ma’am.”
“He lost money to Heymans again,” Fuery confessed to Ed. “He’s been moaning about it all morning.”
“Why do you even bother to bet against him?” Ed asked, knowing from Roy’s stories that Heymans Breda possessed a cunning mind and a wealth of luck. “You’re just asking for it.”
“But I really didn’t think you would, though!” Havoc whined. “I mean, fine, I did think you would pass, but I didn’t think you would test. I could’ve sworn Boss would never have let you.”
“It wasn’t his decision to make, it was mine,” Ed pointed out. His hot water was ready now. The hot chocolate stirred easily into it. He took the mug back towards Roy’s private office, where the man was rifling through a folder. “Roy, d’you want coffee?”
“I had some earlier, thanks. Sit, we have much to go through.”
Ed sat, and when Roy looked up at him, it wasn’t Roy his guardian and mentor. This sharp-eyed, dead-serious individual was Roy Mustang the Flame Alchemist, the scheming asshole who crawled out of the sands of the East with bloody hands and dark glory mantling his shoulders. This was Colonel Mustang, his direct superior, his commanding officer.
“Major Elric,” he began, “you have received your formal title, and with it you receive privileges and responsibilities of equal measure. From this day onwards,” Roy slid a paper across the desk to him, “you are under my direct supervision, as a part of my core command. Behind you are your comrades, with whom you are expected to work in whatever capacity you are required, whenever I ask it of you. You are, of course, free to make suggestions and question the perimeters of any task I set you—this is part of your privilege as a State Alchemist. However, you are to do so with due respect to myself and to your comrades. If you agree to your assignment to my command, sign at the bottom and print your name underneath.”
Ed cleared his throat and pulled out his favourite pen, signing carefully at the bottom. “Like I’d want anyone else as my CO. The only reason I’m signing this is because it’s you, you know.”
Roy tilted his head with a dark smile. “Good to know. Next,” he took the paper from Ed and replaced it with another one, “this is your research contract, with itemised terms and stipulations. The contract has a term of two years from today. Your renewal is contingent upon approval from the State Alchemical Review Committee; they will take a vote when it comes time. You are required to provide a formal research proposal to the Committee in three months, written and submitted for review no later than July 31st. If the Committee approves your proposal, you are to commence your project in whatever manner you see fit, with periodic updates expected every six months—these need not be written and can be practical demonstrations, unless you would like to write them. If you complete your project within two years, you are expected to produce a formal research paper to be peer-reviewed by the Committee, archived through the First Library for State circulation, and then eventually published in a scientific journal—Ars Alchemica, the Amestrian Journal of Medicine, and the like.
“You can transition to a combat contract should you prefer; it will have to be a written request submitted to the Fuhrer himself and approved by the State Alchemical Review Committee. Likely they will ask for an explanation in person. At that point, there is no guarantee that you will remain with me.”
“Not gonna happen,” Ed shook his head.
“Still I have to tell you,” Roy shrugged. “Because you are a researcher, this contract precludes you from having to be deployed on combat missions, reporting to me daily in this office as a part of a working team, or even so much as wearing uniform. This contract gives you a lot of freedom; that is the exchange for the level of academic expectation they have for you. However, if we are to be smart about this, you should still report to me at least once a week, show your face in this office and help with some of the cases we are responsible for. That excuses you from prying eyes who will wonder why you are taking so long to produce research.”
Ed nodded. Izumi had told him the same. He signed the paper on the bottom.
Roy took it and handed him a third sheet. “This has further details on your compensation. As a ranked officer, a Major, you will begin receiving 7,000 marks every month. You are entitled to a total of one month’s paid leave per year, during which you are not expected to report to command and will not receive directives from your superior officers. All leave, paid or otherwise, must be approved by your direct superior and then routed through Internal Affairs. Any leave beyond your allotted paid month will have to be cleared and remain unpaid. Since you are a researcher, you have much leeway with this; you don’t need to report to me daily and can perform research at home even when you are feeling ill or under the weather. For the most part, you have full command of your time.
“When you retire, which will not be for a long time, you will receive a monthly stipend of 3500 marks per month as a retirement benefit. You will also retain access to the Libraries, but you will no longer have access to Laboratories or military facilities unless otherwise invited. You will retain your membership within the State Alchemical Review Committee as well as your voting rights for the appointment of new State Alchemists annually.”
“Ooh, I can be there next year and vote ‘no’ on all the cannon fodder!”
“Indeed; you can sit with me and we can be the red card committee,” Roy smirked, flipping to the next page. “Next are your medical requirements and compensation. Every soldier is required to have an annual physical during which they evaluate your level of fitness and overall state of health. Based on these results, they will generate a report that will have recommendations on things you need to address—diet and exercise, for example. Sometimes they will mandate certain things; I am required to attend sessions with a psychiatrist due to my, ah, involvement in Ishbal, as they say. These are judgments made on a case to case basis. As a researcher, their expectations of you are not as high, but they prefer that you stay in good health so that you are able to perform your duties without issue.
“All of your medical care is free from now until your death, provided you acquire said medical services through the State Hospital. They provide automail maintenance and repair as well, although it is up to you if you would like to retain your mechanic—most people prefer to do so. You would have to pay out of your own pocket in that case.”
“Yeah, I’d rather stick with Granny and Winry,” Ed scratched his cheek, wincing at the thought of Winry’s wrench. “Although maybe I won’t see them until later this year. When they’ll be less, uh, painful.”
“A wise decision,” Roy nodded, having been exposed to Granny Pinako’s ire. “Any questions so far?”
“Nope. What’s next?” Ed twirled his pen in his automail hand, now managing enough dexterity not to drop or fling it.
Roy turned to the next page. “This contains the details of your research grant, as approved by the State Alchemical Review Committee. It will take a week before you are able to access the money, but the paperwork is already in motion and the bank account details are here. You are hereby granted 60,000 marks—”
“Holy shit.”
“—for the first six months, renewal or an increase contingent upon the mid-year reassessment you will have to undergo with the Committee. These funds are supposed to be used only for the purposes of your research, but the details are per your discretion: you may hire research assistants and secretaries, you may purchase supplies and equipment, or you may use it to rent property to build a lab of your own. If the Committee signs off on your progress report at six months, then you get another 60,000 marks. This amount may increase depending on the results you are able to produce, but they rarely increase grant funds more than once a year. You’d have to be very convincing.”
Ed’s eyes were as large as saucers. “Um, I can’t think of why I’d need more than 120,000 marks every year.”
“You never know,” Roy shrugged, flipping the paper over once Ed’s signature was secured. “And it’s nice not to have to spend your own money on research, even though I know you’d be willing.”
“I don’t even know what I’ll do with all this money!”
“Buy your own books and clothes? Save up for a rainy-day fund? Maybe send funds to your brother.”
Ed shook his head with a frown. “Al would never accept it, no.” And Izumi would be pissed.
A few more signatures regarding more morbid considerations (hazard pay, accidental death reimbursements, setting up a living will) and they were concluding the papers, which were then kept inside a blue folder.
“Will I get copies of those?”
Roy gave him an approving look. “Riza will make copies for you,” he said, handing the folder to his lieutenant.
“Excellent. So, what’s next?”
Kicking back in his leather-padded chair, Roy spread his arms. “Your time is yours, Major Elric. You could stay here and learn how the unit functions. You could take a tour of the grounds. Or,” and at this, Roy got a gleam in his eye, “you could spend the rest of the day at the Library.”
The Library!!
Ed stood at once, hot chocolate all forgotten. “See you later, then,” he bid, speed-walking across the office to the background of Roy’s chuckling.
“Try not to get buried under the books,” Roy called after him, “I’ll come find you after five.”
At long last, Ed gleefully thought as he fled the drab building, Amestris’ arcanum, the First Library!
The First Library of Amestris was perhaps the most comprehensive compendium of human knowledge on the Continent. It certainly held the largest collection of alchemical knowledge in the world. Even the Empire of Xing, where practitioners of a similar science known as alkahestry purportedly guarded several temples full of ancient scrolls, did not have anything approaching the breadth of knowledge that the First Library held within its walls. Why else would they send their scholars across the desert otherwise? The Ren clan were primarily businessmen and traders, of course, but they were also useful ambassadors for the Xingese Emperor, hosting a rotating cast of scholars and clerics from their homeland at any given time.
Ed strode through the front doors, suppressing a shiver of delight that crawled down the length of his spine. He was here, he was finally here! Eyes set only on the white wooden doors guarding the inner sanctum, he wound through the groups of visitors who were gawping at the architecture. He stopped at the doors in front of a uniformed cadet to show his watch.
“Major Elric,” he declared, feeling an odd mixture of pride and embarrassment, “I’d like to go inside, please.”
The female cadet blinked down at him several times before responding. “E-Er, y-es, of course, sir, erm, please sign in at the desk,” she motioned towards the tables set on either side of the entrance.
The same sort of reaction there when Ed presented his watch and asked for the log. He signed his name, the date, the time, and his license number (engraved, of course, into the face of his watch). How would they know, though, the difference between a real and a counterfeit watch? Perhaps there was a unique mechanism or trademark hidden inside... something to ask Roy later.
“How long am I allowed to stay?” Ed asked the receptionist, who accepted his signature and countersigned the log after examining his watch.
“A-As a State Alchemist, sir, you are allowed free and complete access to the entire Library at will, sir. There are no hour limitations; you may even stay overnight. Please be advised, however, that you are not allowed to remove any items from the premises at any given time, sir, except with express permission from the Fuhrer and the State Alchemical Review Committee.”
“Right,” Ed took back his watch, tucking it into his right pocket. “Anything else?”
The receptionist adjusted his glasses and peered down at him with intense eyes. “...a-are you really only twelve?”
Ed rolled his eyes so hard they hurt. “Yes, I’m only twelve. If that’s all, I’ll be going, thank you.” People, he thought, are so tedious.
No matter, he was here for the books. The cadets dutifully opened the inner doors for him, earning a hush from the unlicensed onlookers otherwise wandering the limits of the antechamber. He must have made quite a picture with his red coat bright against the white door. Lucky suckers, Ed thought to himself, earning a glimpse inside without having to be licensed. Likely it was the farthest any of them would ever see into the First Library in their lifetime.
The enormous, elaborate staircase met him first. (1) They curved on either side of the sizable hall, banisters made of dark carved wood and steps clothed with thick red carpet. The walls were white and crawled with stories carved into the wood and gilded with gold. Ahead of him, at the top of the stairs, stood the statue of a nameless alchemist carrying upon his shoulders the weight of a large alchemical globe. The globe rotated with electricity like the one outside in the middle of Central Plaza, even as it was confidently borne by the alchemist who stood with legs spread apart in a power stance. The message was loud and clear, of course. With knowledge came the burden of responsibility, and alchemists, more than anyone else, carried the most of both.
Directly below it, if Ed chose not to ascend the grand staircase, a corridor continued down what seemed like the length of the whole library, with hallways branching out every so often on either side. The hall was too interior for any source of natural sunlight, so everything was lit with lamps and sconces, lending the place a meditative, cavernous glow.
If this is a cave, then I never want to see the light, (2) Ed crooned, bearing right to slowly ascend the stairs with a hand softly touching the elaborate banisters. He had read about this in that book called Origins, written long ago by one of the very few civilians who were allowed entry into the First Library for the sole purpose of writing about its history. The decorated walls held the stories of Amestris’ founding, all painstakingly hand-carved through the vision and hard work of a genius woodworker hundreds of years ago. Amestris must have had plenty of money indeed to be able to afford such luxuries that served no other purpose beyond storytelling and aesthetic.
Behind the alchemist’s statue was an archway that opened into a long hall like the one downstairs. There were more stairs here on either side, landing on each level in front of an archway before continuing upwards for eight floors. It was much, much larger than it looked from the outside.
What caught his attention, however, was the archway on the opposite end, above the doors through which he entered. From here, he could see panels of brightly coloured glass glimmering with the sunlight from outside. He wandered towards it as if drawn by siren song, emerging into a bright room with high carved ceilings, massive landscape artwork, and a truly enormous stained-glass window looking out over Central Plaza and Headquarters.
Amplificus Majora! Ed gasped in wonder, eyes roving across the intersecting lines of the array. The scripts were indeed live, now that Ed could observe them in closer focus. He walked to stand before the glass, hand hovering over the tiny scripts marching along the inner limits of the circle.
“Careful,” someone said from behind him, “the verdict is still out on whether those are live or not.”
They’re live alright, Ed wanted to say, but he didn’t know who this person was. Turning around, he found a sandy-haired man leaning against the back of one of the many chairs in the Majora study, a thick book in held his hand.
“You must be the city’s new celebrity alchemist,” the man said, sharp eyes looking him over once and then twice. “Edward Elric, I presume.”
Ed immediately did not like him. “Correct,” he said, unwilling to disclose more than that.
Just then, a small group of young alchemists entered, among them the supremacist girl from yesterday who made blades from sheets of paper. Ed’s frown grew.
“Lucius!” one of the newly arrived young men exclaimed, “You found him! Hello,” the young man turned to Ed, eyes sparkling with excitement, “Robert Kinnear, Carbon Alchemist, great to meet you at last! I saw your exam yesterday, I was very impressed!”
Offered a hand to shake, propriety obliged Ed to reciprocate. He shook hands with Robert Kinnear (of whom he has never heard before) and said, “Edward Elric, thanks, nice to meet you too.”
“Oh, these are a few of our colleagues—Milton Burns here,” a young man with reddish blond hair, “my good friend David Hemmler,” another blond man, this time a pale yellow blond, “Mathias Lindquist, who is a fellow researcher,” the oldest of the group nodded at him, “and Analisa Tarasova, you must remember each other from yesterday.”
I must nothing, Ed mutinously muttered to himself, but outwardly kept his expression schooled neutral. Likewise, she did not offer her hand, only nodded, no doubt recalling his not-so-subtle barb against her bigoted philosophy.
Instead of trying to be nice to her, Ed turned towards the man who first spoke to him, still standing there and observing the situation with an air of amused superiority. “And you are?”
The man himself did not respond, instead allowing overly excited Kinnear to step in and introduce him. “Oh, I thought you’d already introduced yourselves to each other! That is Lucius Dornseifer, also a researcher. A scriptsmith! I’m sure you know what that is.”
The limits of condescension know no bounds, Ed thought. Even this Carbon Alchemist, who seemed so impressed with his performance yesterday, still saw him as a child.
“I was hoping you’d come here after you were done at the Headquarters,” Kinnear brightly continued, “I was betting on it. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist!”
“I mean, who can?” Milton Burns shrugged.
“Robert has been singing your praises since yesterday,” Mathias Lindquist said with some chagrin, “I’m sorry to say I wasn’t able to attend due to a prior engagement.”
“No need to apologize,” Ed shrugged back. What complacency, skipping out on the perfect chance to scope out your competition due to ‘a prior engagement.’ If Ed had any choice about the matter, he would be present at every single practical exam. No doubt Roy was.
“The papers say Mustang is your CO,” Kinnear prompted.
“Yeah, he was also my legal guardian, so it makes sense,” Ed said.
“Who would have thought,” Lucius Dornseifer chuckled, although mostly to himself.
“Mustang, though,” Burns turned to Kinnear, who raised both eyebrows. “Must be intense. I mean, he’s not exactly the most kid-friendly CO you can have.”
“None of the COs are supposed to be kid-friendly,” Kinnear reasoned.
“Mustang himself was very young when he joined up, he must know what it’s like,” Lindquist pointed out. The man was old enough to have been enlisted then at the beginning of the war. “I hope he treats you well,” the man said to Ed.
Ed gave a cold smile. “Quite well, thanks. We’re good friends.”
“Friends,” Dornseifer echoed.
“What’s your problem?” Ed asked then, unflinching. “You’ve been very judgy since you walked in here, and I haven’t even met you before today. Do you have a problem with Roy?”
Called out in such a direct fashion, Lucius Dornseifer straightened to his full height, lip curling in what could be anger. He opened his mouth, no doubt to spew some venom, but before he could get a word in edgewise, another voice interrupted from the entryway.
“I wouldn’t pick on him if I were you, Lucius, he has sharp teeth,” and hey, Ed knew that voice!
Brightening, he stepped around a chair to grin at his friend. “Kanon!”
“Heya, Ed! I see you’ve met a few of the peers,” Kanon came up to him and slung an arm around his shoulder with a wide grin. “Congratulations, you little asshole, Cyril is gonna shit a brick when he finds out you’ve been holding out on him.”
“Technically, I’ve been holding out on everyone, on Roy’s instructions,” Ed slyly smiled. “So, if you wanna blame anyone, blame him. What are you doing here?”
“Needed to look up a few things, but I also figured you’d come here straight away,” Kanon looked up at the others, who were still gathered nearby but with much less ease about their shoulders. Ed had to grin; Kanon obviously put them on their toes. “Long time no see, Lindquist! How’s the research going in West City?”
“Satisfactory, I suppose,” Lindquist said. “I read your last publication, it was very thought-provoking.”
“Boring old scriptsmith like myself, it’s the least I can do to provoke some thoughts in you,” Kanon teased.
“Scriptsmithing is not boring!” Ed frowned, twisting under Kanon’s arm to give him a short glare. “It’s one of the hardest things in alchemy! Have some respect for yourself.”
Kanon laughed. “Did you hear that, Lucius? Someone who appreciates our dusty old field!”
“Fool for those who don’t,” Lucius sniffed, arms crossed, and shoulders hunched. Ed then realized that Lucius and Kanon must be rivals, for if they practiced within the same narrow field, then they would have no choice but to compete. Kanon, of course, with his considerable intellect, resources, and connections, must have been winning.
“Have you gone elsewhere?” Kanon asked Ed, to which Ed said no. “You must see the Rare Manuscripts Hall. Come on, I’ll give you a tour. Later, guys—and lady!”
Without further excuses, Kanon dragged him away from the Majora study; a misnomer, Ed realized, because one could never study there when everyone else tended to come and go. There would be too many distractions, too many prying eyes.
Like the Lucius boy, the Gate pointed out, who must always sit somewhere nearby waiting for people to spy on.
He must have wanted something from me, Ed thought, because why approach otherwise? A part of him regretted being dragged away so soon, instead curious about what else he could discover from these alchemists who seemed to be so curious about him. But it was only a small part. By large, he was relieved to be dragged away.
“You never want to go to Majora unless it’s very early in the morning and no one else is here,” Kanon said. “Otherwise, you tend to get ambushed. You gotta learn the safe places. Think of this as one massive nerdy fraternity house. That sort of mindset will help you.”
“I have no clue what that means.”
Kanon paused, and then resumed walking, “Right, twelve years old. Okay. It’s like—a clubhouse. A clubhouse where people of like interests and a singular association—ehem, State Alchemists—hang out… except everyone is in some way or another competing with everyone else even if they are billed on the same research study. Tensions can run quite deep, and that’s not to mention the petty manoeuvrings some of them try. A lot of times it becomes about money. Best to avoid it all and stick to your own circles. That’s why I spend my time with the Boys instead of with our so-called peers.”
Ed couldn’t fault him there.
“This is what I call the scripts section, although it’s not officially named as such. I always sit around here somewhere.” They had gone down the long corridor and bore left into a smaller hall with rows of shelves around them. Tall pointed windows let in some sunlight. There were also tables and chairs in the middle but no one else around. “You’ll develop your own mindmap of the Library as you explore it, but all the books that have something to say about scriptsmithing tends to sit hereabouts.”
Ed was looking forward to developing his own mindmap, yes, he was indeed.
“This is the human biosciences hall,” Kanon pointed out a hall with blue drapings as they passed it, “and across the corridor is the flora and fauna hall. Above us, the entire fourth floor is all about physics and chemistry—anything and everything you can think of.”
On and on they went, from hall to hall until Ed was properly convinced he had died and gone to heaven. Nothing should be so wonderful. He couldn’t wait to tell Al all about this! He must get licensed, Ed thought, this is totally worth it.
“The medical literature collection in the Firat Academy of Medicine is larger, but there are a few rare texts here that they don’t have over there. Jason—my sister’s husband—managed to get provisionary access here for a few months when he was researching a new surgical technique and needed references. That required some serious strings-pulling, though.”
“Of that, I have no doubt,” Ed snorted. The Firats were plenty capable of pulling strings for their eldest son.
They stood in a long hall filled with more books and long tables in the middle, low lamps available for work and an alchemical globe the size of a human head displayed in the middle. What beautiful, sacred spaces this place held. Ed admired it all openly and with his whole heart, walking along the shelves with his flesh hand hovering over ancient pages. While he did this, Kanon admired him.
“Quite a display yesterday, with your practical,” Kanon stood with a hip against one of the sturdy tables. “Roy didn’t seem surprised, though, so he knows what you’re capable of.” Ah. Kanon must have had access to the exams somehow, likely through the Firats. Perhaps he and Jacob both came to watch, although he didn’t notice them in the darkness of the gallery.
“Of course he knows, it’s Roy,” Ed pulled a book from a shelf and rifled through its pages. He could do this now. He had the right to all this knowledge.
“All the more reason I’m surprised he’s allowing you to be in the military.” Ed looked up at Kanon then, who met him eye to eye. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know Roy’s got ambition in his bones, but I expected more care from him. Letting someone like you into the hands of the military isn’t exactly something I expected he would do.”
“And once again I reiterate,” Ed said slowly, “it was not his decision, it was mine.”
“Then perhaps you don’t understand what you’re capable of.”
Kanon knew something, that was for sure. For a moment, the two of them stood there in mutual silence, Ed holding a book and Kanon leaning against a table. A scriptsmith, a social figure, a genius in his own right: Ed should not underestimate this person, even though they were tentatively friends. After all, in the great game, everyone has a play.
Ed replaced the book in its spot on the shelf. “Trust me when I say I know exactly what I’m capable of, Kanon, although I thank you for your concern.”
Kanon huffed, looking down to his toes and readjusting his stance. “Roy’s trained you, alright. Very well, then. You should know that your brand of alchemy has put you under a spotlight. There are those in certain circles who… hmm, suspect that you have done something… forbidden… in order to be able to transmute without a circle. I only tell you this because you’re my friend.”
Ed walked back to where Kanon still stood, leaning against the table himself and crossing his arms. “Is that why you didn’t accept a position in the military? I know Jacob doesn’t have to, but you could have.”
Kanon’s smile fell. “The military ruined my brother. They ask for too much, and under their command, my alchemy would be devastating. I don’t know how Roy lives with it, and frankly speaking I admire him for functioning as well as he does through all of it, but if it were me, I would break. Know thyself, isn’t that what they tell us when we begin? I know myself. I won’t survive.”
“Fair enough,” Ed nodded. “I appreciate the concern, really. Thanks for the warning. But I know myself,” he responded with a conviction that the Gate echoed, “and whatever they think to throw at me, I’ve already survived worse.”
This has been a very odd conversation, Ed reflected, walking past Kanon to head back towards the stairs. He still wanted to see the Rare Manuscripts Hall and the Eise Orrery on the topmost floor. But as he walked past his friend, Kanon’s hand shot out and gripped his flesh arm in a vice.
“Don’t ever set foot in Lab 5,” Kanon ducked down to whisper into his ear, “and whatever you do, do not show an interest in bioalchemy. They have forced alchemists to perform human transmutation, and if they so much as think you can do it, they won’t care that you’re only twelve. They will make you, and there’s nothing Roy can do to stop them.”
What?
At that moment, another alchemist walked into the hall, giving them a passing look and then ignoring them entirely for a bookshelf. Kanon clapped him on the shoulder.
“Come along, then! Rare Manuscripts Hall is this way.”
Ed tagged after Kanon, blinking at the thoughts careening against the insides of his skull. Human transmutation? Is that why they’re so obsessed with asking people about it during the exams? But why though? What military benefit could you possibly get? That makes no sense.
The Gate, silent through the entire conversation, simply turned over in his head and smiled.
“He’s not wrong,” Roy handed him the next dish to dry, “and yes, I’ve heard those rumours before. Lab 5 is best avoided, I agree with that. Not entirely sure what’s happening in there, not entirely sure I want to know. But let’s put it this way: it doesn’t change my plans.”
“That’s fair,” Ed carefully parked the next plate atop the pile. “I was just thrown by that whole conversation. If I didn’t know better, I’d have panicked that he knew something about—Mum.”
“There’s a reason why we’re lying about what happened to you,” Roy pointed out.
“I know, I know, it just doesn’t make sense, though, because, I mean,” Ed put the towel aside, neatly folded, and turned to ask, “what would the military gain from a successful human transmutation? It’s not something everyone can just do, and it’s not something you can easily mass-replicate. That’s assuming they’re successful. If they’ve even tried, they must know that it comes with a price.”
Roy turned off the tap and dried his hands. “People do talk about how Lab 5 sits next to Central Prison.”
Ed made a disgusted noise, hugging himself and hunching forward. “I knew what I was signing up for but what the fuck.”
“Language, young man.”
Ed gave him a flat look.
Sighing, Roy threw his arms wide. “What can I say? This is why I do what I do. If it’s going to change, it must happen from the inside out. The only other alternative is the whole structure’s complete destruction, and that comes hand in hand with the destruction of everything we know to be Amestris. Can’t go that route, too many casualties and it’s damn near impossible besides.”
“So we do it the hard way.”
“Yep.”
Roy moved around him to prepare them their nightly hot beverage, cocoa for Ed and tea for himself. Ed watched him quietly, thinking back on everything Kanon said in the Library that afternoon. No matter how many times he ran over the whole conversation, it was more than passing strange.
“His brother’s defection must have gotten to him, I guess.”
“Kanon? Likely. The three of them were very close from what Jason and Julia have told me. And Karl Islenhov was not well after the war. None of us were. It must have been hard for Kanon, seeing his brother like that. I didn’t know him very well yet at the time. I got to know him after Karl had already left.” Roy handed him the steaming cocoa with a smile and added, “Kanon must also really like you.”
“It’s my age again,” Ed sighed, stirring the cocoa with a frown.
“It’s more than that. Kanon rarely does such risky moves, it’s not like him,” Roy took a hand to the back of his neck and ushered him towards the back stairs. “He usually doesn’t like people knowing how much he knows. But he told you all that anyway, knowing that you would surely talk to me about it. I think we have an ally, Ed.”
“I thought he was your ally already.”
“He was a potential, but a neutral. I was hopeful, though. He’s well attached, smart, resourceful, and moreover Anya’s partner. I would hate for us to be on opposite sides.”
Ed hummed in assent, disliking the thought of having to consider Kanon an enemy. This business of putting everyone on sides was exhausting. Did Roy think like this all the time?
He must, the Gate quietly murmured. How else would he survive?
How indeed.
Wait a second.
“Wait a second,” Ed turned and caught Roy’s arm before the man could retire to his room. “Kanon’s not State-licensed. You said he refused his offer. How does he have access to First Library?”
Roy chuckled, “That’s Kanon for you, ever resourceful. He’s the only person I know who has managed to argue the Committee into allowing him limited access—he can only use the First Library and does not have access to laboratories or satellite cities’ resources—on account of his stellar test scores and familial connections. I believe the Firats wined and dined the Fuhrer for that perk. The Fuhrer’s wife is very good friends with Anne Firat—the matriarch—and Karenina, Kanon’s elder sister, is the paediatrician to the Fuhrer’s son.”
“I should be so appalled,” Ed said in admiration.
“It’s politics,” Roy shrugged. “Get some sleep, Ed, you’ll need it. We’ve got a full day tomorrow.”
“Right... wait, what’s happening tomorrow?”
Roy turned and smiled at him, the kind of smile that warned of unpleasant things to come. “Socialisation.”
“What?!”
In the morning, Ed had time to consider the vellum certificate declaring his new title. Protean Alchemist, he mouthed soundlessly. It still felt unreal. He held it up to the wall, or atop the desk in his room, but putting it somewhere visible felt pretentious somehow. In the end, he slipped it back into its envelope and tucked it into his battered suitcase, next to his birth certificate, under the bed.
The watch did stay with him though, and he thought he could get used to its weight. It sat on his nightstand while he slept, for he was afraid of losing it in the sheets or under the mattress. It would otherwise make a home in his pocket, the silver chain on subtle display just as Roy wore his.
While combing his hair back, he considered the notebooks he would bring and how much he could fit into his satchel without looking like he stole half the Library. Such serious matters required lengthy, sincere consideration. He was still debating the merit of taking an extra notebook with him when Roy knocked on his door for breakfast.
“You look like you’ve got heavy things on your mind,” Roy noted with a smile. He did not need prompting to come into the room and braid Ed’s hair for him.
“Should I take three notebooks or just two? What if I run out of paper? Will they let me make notes and take it out of the Library? Do they inspect my bags when I step out?”
Roy’s laughter echoed brightly within the room. “The Library can provide you notebooks and plenty of paper. Yes, they will allow you to take notes out. Yes, they will inspect your bags, but that’s just standard procedure for everyone who goes in or out. You also assume to much of them, Ed; they won’t understand your notes even if they looked closely. Most of the cadets and librarians are laypeople, not alchemists. At best, they are students, but the military is careful about hiring those.”
Ed made a noise of assent, shrugging into his vest. The buttons got easier to do up everyday; his automail dexterity must be improving.
They ate breakfast together over a quick game of chess and then left the house in Havoc’s company. As they drove down East 3rd, Ed leaned into Roy and asked, “So how do they know if it’s a fake watch? It’s not that special, really.” He pulled his silver watch out to illustrate his point.
“The titanium alloy it’s made with isn’t easy to come by, but I suppose the truly resourceful would find a way,” Roy shrugged, “in which case military records are the way to verify someone. Your number is unique and corresponds only to you. All the records nationwide will have already been updated by now. There aren’t that many State Alchemists—several hundred of us, and we get scarcer by the day—so it’s not that hard to keep track.”
Ed hummed, unconvinced. It seemed too simple.
Sometimes the simplest answers are the best ones, the Gate quipped, ever glib. It looked notably fluffy today, like a cat that spent the better part of a sunny afternoon laying out and grooming itself. Ed had to wonder if it had anything to do with the chaotic, confusing dreams he only vaguely recalled from last night.
They pulled up in front of the Library. Still blissfully empty; too early for visitors yet.
“Pick you up at noon, don’t be late. We have a standing appointment and we don’t want to keep our guests waiting.”
Sighing, Ed debarked the car. “I don’t see why I have to socialise. M’socialised enough...”
“Look sharp, Major. You’re a State Alchemist now, it comes with responsibilities attached.”
“Didn’t see socialisation on the contract!”
He shouldn’t complain, really—it wasn’t another ball or party—but he was quickly learning to resent anything that curtailed his time inside the Library. Could you blame him?
No, Ed sighed with happiness as he logged himself in, no, you really couldn’t.
What did he want to learn today? He stood in the entrance hall as the doors shut behind him, sealing him and the books in a tomblike silence. Most people would be unsettled; Ed was excited.
Mathematical theory? Ed wondered, swaying towards a hallway. But bioalchemy. He strained towards a different hall. No, no, no, no. You’re here for a reason, Edward Elric. Montague and Mahler. Read their manuscripts first.
And so he marched up the stairs with determination, heading towards the section that held everything to do with chemistry and physics. He had promised himself that he would allow one day out of the week for leisurely topics and other distractions, and he needed to uphold that promise. The rest of his four days were to be spent on his research and whatever other project Roy might assign him. Otherwise he would get nothing done.
I have three months to write up a proposal, Ed kept in mind, so I must use my time wisely. Roy had promised to help him with the writing, but Ed had to at least get a grasp on the existing knowledge before they could start. Besides which, Roy and his crew had their own work to deal with, these Priority 1 cases which were giving Roy and Maes both a significant challenge. Cold cases go cold for a reason, Maes had grimly explained, because the Amestrian military was not known to fail very often.
At this early hour, the Library looked truly deserted save for a few librarians who had little to do but tidy the workspaces. The Majora study looked warm and inviting. Perhaps Ed would go back to sit there after finding some worthy books. The chemistry section was on the fourth floor, and it wasn’t hard to find the shelves dedicated to advanced chemistry, so he began browsing there, learning how the shelves were organized within their distinct subcategories.
Journals seemed to have their own shelves in each hall, organized by publish date and then author. Thusly individual manuscripts were easily set apart from the proper books. Ed found Mahler and Montague’s works there, the originals with full annotations, waiting in the dark for the next mind to converse with them. Dusting their surfaces with a gentle hand, Ed could tell it had been a while.
Almost fifty years ago, Robert Mahler was the one to prove that the atom was the smallest unit of matter. Up until his definitive discovery, alchemists were performing transmutations without fully understanding what they were doing; it was common practice to trial an array and observe its effects, working backwards by deciphering scripts and array structures to understand how and why nature behaved the way it did. Molecules were grouped haphazardly with atoms, every single thing simply called a ‘substance’ or ‘material’ without heed to their structure.
Atom from atomos, Ed knew, in the old language meaning ‘indivisible.’ Little did he know.
Mahler was young when he made this discovery, a field pioneer and still only in his twenties. Within ten years, however, another maverick alchemist would upend his theory with a new one, Abel Montague coming out with proof that there existed detectible particles smaller than the purportedly indivisible atom. Instead of shunning the newcomer, Mahler quickly conscripted Montague and together they worked to build the atomic theory Ed grew up being taught. Atoms were still formally considered the smallest unit of matter because what minuscule particles existing within them were too tiny to be consistently observed with current technology; however, each atom was different from its neighbour, some larger while others smaller still, and it was Montague’s theory that what made them different from each other was the precise contents they held within them. These subatomic particles, too small to be observed, made the critical difference.
Over time, the partners built a list of the different types of atoms they observed, which would later be published in Ars Alchemica as the Table of Elements (3), eleven years after the beginning of their partnership. That was the volume Ed now held in his hands, ground-breaking work that changed everything they understood about alchemy. The pair would go on to publish several updated versions of the table, adding more elements as they discovered them, for they were smart enough to leave gaps in the table in order to afford for modifications.
Their partnership came to an abrupt, unexpected end in the winter of 1893, mere two years before Ed’s own birth, when Robert Mahler was shot and killed in Central by an unknown assailant. Montague attempted to continue the work alone, but perhaps due to overwork he soon succumbed to the plague of deadly influenza that swept across most of the Continent the year after. Both died with no issue, the First Library inheriting their manuscripts while the Armstrong family took over whatever other material property they left behind.
What a shame, Ed thought, because they were on to something here.
Around Mahler and Montague’s discoveries, other researchers flourished. As the partners redefined the foundations of the science, other alchemists of various specialties brought a veritable explosion of practical application. Suddenly they could predict reactions they had never tried well before an attempt; if they calculated the equations correctly, they could tell exactly how much base materials were required in order to produce a set amount of any desired substance. Instead of being about memorizing and repeating a set of known reactions, alchemy became about creating new ones.
They now understood that each atom differed from the other based on how many electrons it carried inside. Hydrogen had one, helium had two, lithium had three, and so forth. The more electrons it had, the heavier the atom became. Each molecule was a defined combination of several atoms bound through either the full sharing or exchange of their “spare” electrons. Some atoms liked each other better than others did; they bound to each other more readily, hydrogen and oxygen for example, one of the strongest bonds known to occur in nature.
It was the work of some alchemists to attempt to force otherwise unbound atoms together into new combinations. They made metal alloys stronger than either predecessor, or new solutions with special properties that made them better solvents or conductors of electricity. Nash Tringham’s work was along the same lines, although far more ambitious and morally reprehensible than so far anything else Ed has had the… privilege of reading.
Lapis philosophorum, or the Philosopher’s Stone.
Well known to drive men mad, the Gate murmured, sorting through the chaotic tumble of what must be the breadth of Ed’s knowledge. A worthy pursuit.
Is it? Ed asked, looking up from the journal he was ploughing through. Can it even be done?
Nash Tringham, the Gate offered him his own memory of reading the manuscript at Mr. Tucker’s house.
We both know Nash Tringham only managed a shadow of the real thing. The Gate hummed, turning over as a dark, fluffy mass behind Ed’s right ear. You’re telling me he was on to something?
Amplifier, the Gate pointed out. Imperfect, unstable, but it worked.
Somewhat. Not every batch was stable.
Because not every woman was the same, smiled the Gate, and Ed was struck with a sudden bout of nausea. The solution should have been adjusted according to its host, don’t you see? (4)
Oh, Ed saw, alright. Tringham’s questions had not been fully balanced. If it had been him—except no, he could never, not even close, not on pregnant women, pregnant like Gracia—
Bursting out of his seat, Ed paced up and down the length of the hall, taking a moment to control his breathing. The only reason he hadn’t hurled when he read that manuscript was because of little Nina sleeping soundly halfway in his lap. To think that such a thing was successful—
But the work is incomplete. And the equations, they weren’t balanced as they should have been. He seemed like he knew what he was about, Nash Tringham; surely he would have been able to see—oh, but perhaps the man was trying to mislead the military. Perhaps he intentionally left his work incomplete, in order to prevent other people from—
Ah, but does he not have a son? said the Gate. Isn’t his son supposed to be your contemporary?
Ed grimaced. If the son knows what’s good for him, he won’t continue his father’s research.
But what are the chances? the Gate smiled. If the reward is the Stone, then he will not be alone. Even if he doesn’t pick up where his father left off, others will continue the work.
What is the Philosopher’s Stone anyway? The Gate presented Ed with knowledge he already had, but Ed waved all that away. I know what it’s supposed to be, but what is it?
The Great Work of Alchemy, the Gate murmured, prima materia, materia ultima.
“That’s real helpful, thanks,” Ed drily commented. The great work of alchemy, though…
Distracted, Ed wandered towards the dustier end of the hall, where books which indeed seemed older than Amestris itself sat in wait. Some of these books were considered irrelevant nowadays, their half-formed and immature theories long since disproved and supplanted. But somewhere, surely, there would be a mention of the Xerxian theory of matter. Somewhere, somehow…
His fingers, which had been wandering over ancient spines, stopped over a book that was bound in what felt like heavily tooled calfskin. Gently, carefully, he eased it off the shelf, blowing on its surface to displace the light sheen of dust. Why this book? He didn’t know, but something about it—Ed gasped.
There, on the front page, was a tree, the upside-down tree, the one that he twice saw engraved on the Gate.
Quickly he closed the book again, reading the title, which was degraded from age and the wear of its handling. Mysterium Magnum, the title read. The Great Mystery. How pretentious. It was written some three hundred years ago by a Jacob Bohme, and it seemed, at least from the first few pages, to speculate on the origins of elements, discussing different base materials and their properties, as well as their observed behaviours. Surprisingly insightful, although flawed information. Ed flipped through the contents with some speed, stopping only when he found a chapter dedicated to the Stone.
…in ancient alchemy, there exists such a legend known as ‘prima materia’ or the ‘prime matter’, a mysterious chaotic source material containing opposites incompatible and in the most violent of conflicts, and when it is guided towards a redeemed state of harmony, it becomes ‘lapis philosophorum,’ the philosopher’s stone… First, it must be brought together, and then it must be putrefied. What has been putrefied must then be broken down, and then the divided must be purified. Unite what is purified and then harden it; in this way one can be made from man and woman. (5)
“What in the world…?” It sounded like the blathering of a madman. There was little sense to be found within.
Ed shook his head, closing the book and replacing it on the shelf. He returned to the table, eyes one last time glancing over to that old, forgotten section of the hall, before looking to Montague’s spiky handwriting once more.
He was roundabouts where Montague was illustrating how each resulting molecule can show different characteristics from its preceding atoms, much like how each child showed unique traits separate from the parents. The manifestation of these traits depended on how the combination was achieved, the strength of the molecular bonds, the type of bond observed, and the environment around the new resulting material.
Which is why Nash Tringham was not successful, Ed noted, because he did not take into consideration the ‘environment’ of the pregnant host in his equation.
But Ed’s work, if successful, would not be concerned with the combination of atoms. Ed’s work was more concerned with the division of them. What would he do if he were to successfully split one? Could he manipulate those subatomic particles with alchemy, move them and unbind them and recombine them as he saw fit? Would they even be capable of such change, or would they simply dissipate if the atom was divided? He just wanted to see—how would they behave independently of one another? Or even further—what would he find inside an electron, if he could split one?
You ask repetitive questions, Little Hohenheim. I already told you, the Gate smiled, scythe-like and dark, it is the Great Work of Alchemy. Prima materia. Materia ultima.
Straightening in his seat, Ed flattened his fingers on top of the table. Are you telling me, he slowly clarified, that if I split subatomic particles, I create the Philosopher’s Stone?
It is one step, answered the Gate, for first it must be brought together and putrefied, and then what has been putrefied must be broken down…
That book. Ed put his face in his hands, rubbing vigorously; this was not what he was supposed to be working on. But it was related somehow, and the Gate was talking about it, and when has the Gate ever been wrong?
Never.
Ed stood and walked back to the shelf. He needed to read that book. If you’re misleading me, I will dunk you in water and keep you wet for days, you hear me? This had better be good.
Bristling in indignation, the Gate shifted to rest behind his left ear instead, hissing at him all the while, I don’t mislead you! I don’t need to! You humans mislead yourselves so well one would think it was a competition!
Ignoring the solid point it made, Ed poked the Gate aside as he took the book back to his table. Alright, he told himself, time to make sense out of the ramblings of madmen.
But all these discarded stepstones of knowledge upon which progress was built must have been, at one point in time, the cutting edge of the science. So Ed needed to give them the credit they were due, in the same way he hoped his own work would one day be viewed with respect even as it was outstripped.
Here was the true secret of Amestrian supremacy, a secret the Fuhrers of Amestris all seemed to inherently understand, even from the beginnings of their history: Amestris was most powerful because it understood that knowledge was power. Amestrian society respected their scholars unlike any other society elsewhere in the world.
Now if we alchemists could only respect each other the same way, Ed chided himself, ah, but that’s asking for too much, because it’s a special kind of disrespect to stand up, take a torch to the work of another alchemist’s life, and tell the world they are wrong and you are right.
It’s called hubris, the Gate grinned, and I’ve never known any other kind of human to have as much of it as you alchemists do. After all, that’s how I met you.
“Ed. Edward.”
A hand landed on his shoulder, jolting him from the rough rapids of his own thoughts. Ed looked up. “Oh, hi.”
Roy chuckled, reaching around him to push a few of his notes aside. “Transitions of form… prima materia? What’s this? Mysterium Magnum,” Roy picked up the book about which Ed was internally screaming. “Written by a Bohm! Colour me surprised. Where has this intelligence gone?”
“Wait, they’re still around?” Ed blinked.
“The Bohms, Edward, you must have met a few during the Ball. Although I do tend to avoid them when I can, so perhaps you don’t remember them on the account of very brief interactions.”
“That.”
“Ah, the Bohms. Rich but tasteless. Often mired in scandals. Spending their money so fast they’ll be destitute by the turn of this generation. They’re the darlings of society; they provide us all with plenty of sordid entertainment,” Roy explained. “Well, distractions aside—you seem to be hard at work, but I have to disturb you. It’s time to go.”
“Right,” Ed cleared his throat, looking over the mess he had made of the table. He gathered his notebooks into as orderly a pile as he could make. The books he would have to return to the shelves. “What if I wanted to hold on to some of this and continue later? Do we have the option of keeping them somewhere in here, since I can’t take them out?”
“Of course; there are personal shelves available downstairs. Are you taking all of these, then?” Roy began picking a few of the books up. “Ah, yes. The original Montague. He was a better writer than Mahler.”
“A more solid alchemist too,” Ed agreed, “but Mahler didn’t seem to mind.”
“They were lovers,” Roy said, “you didn’t know?”
“Oh,” Ed blinked again. “No, I didn’t. But that makes sense. Wait, isn’t Mahler older than Montague?”
“By a bit more than a decade, but for them I suppose it didn’t make a difference. Montague took Mahler’s death very hard. Sir Armstrong tells me that Montague’s illness was not just of the body but of the mind, after Mahler’s sudden death.”
“And they never found out who shot him?”
“Officially, no,” Roy sighed, standing to wait for Ed while he straightened his vest, pulled on his coat, and shouldered his bag. “I wouldn’t be surprised, however, if the Armstrongs, ah, took care of the matter quietly and on their own terms.”
Grunting, Ed took the books and few journals he wanted to save for Monday. He and Roy had already agreed that Ed would only hole up in the Library on the weekdays; the weekends were reserved for time at home and with family. (That was what they were considered now, he and Roy and the Hugheses. Family.)
“I have a question for which you may or may not have an answer,” Ed began as they walked back down the middle hallway, towards the meandering stairs that eventually led to the ground floor.
“Yes?”
“Nash Tringham’s research. I read the manuscripts at Tucker’s house. The equations weren’t balanced properly. Did he do that on purpose?”
Roy, when Ed glanced up, wore a tight frown in response. “For the record, I only answer this because the man is dead and the military can’t punish him for it anymore… but yes. I believe he did.”
“Right,” Ed swallowed, recalling that they were still technically in public, although the halls were deserted around them. “Sorry.”
“No harm done. The man died and took his secrets to the grave. But his sons are brilliant—he has two and both are alchemists. The elder one is Spahn’s hopeful for next year.”
“The one who would have been the youngest if not for me?”
“The very same.”
“Is he doing the same kind of research?” Ed asked, dreading the answer.
“Yes.”
“…is he successful?”
“Yes.”
Ed grimaced, in disgust or despair he didn’t know for sure. Tringham’s own son was betraying his secrets. Did Tringham’s son also perform experimentation on pregnant women? Did he know?
“Say nothing,” Roy quietly told him as they reached the first floor. “Learn to swallow it. If you cannot agree, then remain silent. Let your silence be your protest.”
Ed nodded. They turned left at the mouth of the entrance hall, instead heading into a hall that held the Head Librarian’s office, several other rooms with closed doors, and a few occupied desks with librarians busily at work. They seemed to be cataloguing books and journals, perhaps new ones, or otherwise repairing mild damage on the covers and pages of older volumes.
“May we help you, Colonel, Major?” a middle-aged man stood to attend to them, hair slicked back into a severe style.
“Major Elric here would like to avail of one of the personal shelves.”
“Of course, sir,” the librarian nodded, “follow me this way, please.”
They were led to one of the closed rooms. There were tall cabinets inside, each drawer with an enamelled number. From a secured locker, the librarian retrieved a log and began to note the books they were carrying.
“Perhaps number 35 or 42, sir, to allow for more space.”
“Sure, whatever,” Ed shrugged. “How long can I use the personal shelf for?”
“Items left untouched for two weeks will be removed from the shelves and returned to their proper homes upstairs. Otherwise, they will be kept in the shelf for your convenience until you are finished with them. I do advise not leaving personal notes inside; in case you are otherwise waylaid and become unable to retrieve your items before your two weeks are over, we will have to take your notes and dispose of them in the according manner.”
“Of course,” Ed carefully lowered the books into shelf number 42, with Roy right behind him. The librarian made him sign the log accordingly. “What if I come in the middle of the night and want to see the books?” (6)
“We are here at all hours, sir.”
They left the storage room and were about to walk out of the librarian’s hall altogether when Ed was struck with another question.
“Wait,” he turned around, “what if some other alchemist had a volume I was looking for stored in there and I needed it?"
“The library has multiple copies of even the rarest prints, but in the event of a unique manuscript, you would have to write out a request to the other alchemist, which they are obliged to answer within three days. You may then proceed to share the item of interest with each other and store it in a communal shelf if you like.”
“Huh.”
Roy tilted a smile down at him. “Doesn’t happen often. Come along, we really can’t be late.”
They left the First Library and there outside was Havoc waiting as always. “You don’t ever get a break from chauffeuring Roy around, do you?” Ed asked once they were in the car, earning himself a snort.
“It pays the bills and I get fed once in a while, so,” Havoc shrugged, “can’t really complain. ‘Sides, it’s a far cry from the desert. Anything’s better than that.”
“You were with Roy in Ishbal?” Ed didn’t know.
“Yep, lucky me. I’d probably be dead otherwise,” Havoc pulled them out of the roundabout, skirting Central Plaza and striking northward on 1st Street. They didn’t go very far, just a few blocks past the State Military Hospital, behind which was the expansive First Laboratory. One of these days ED would visit. “Do you want me to wait for you, Boss?” Havoc then asked Roy.
“No, just leave the car and I’ll take it back to Headquarters tomorrow. You can go afterwards.”
“Nice.”
“Plans?”
“This gorgeous lass I’m hoping to get a name from,” Havoc explained, “she works in a café near the Second Library. Beautiful black hair, Boss, the type you like.”
“Hmm, not much into dark hair anymore,” Roy shrugged, playing with the tail end of Ed’s ponytail. Ed raised him an eyebrow.
“Lady General Armstrong is blonde,” Ed pointed out.
“Please,” Roy sighed, “let us not be morbid.”
Ed snapped his fingers. “Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye is also blonde! You like women who can walk all over you, don’t you?”
Havoc exploded in laughter, which ended in a coughing fit as he inhaled more cigarette smoke than he was prepared for. The car swerved for a moment before he caught the steering wheel and righted it.
“The good lieutenant is far too lofty for someone such as myself, Edward, I thought we had already established that,” Roy cleared his throat, huffing as one might a slighted cat whose tail was pulled.
“Sure, whatever you say, Roy. Hey, what in the world, is this a palace?”
Tempted to stick his head out of the car, Ed craned his neck to look outside. They had turned off North 1st into a smaller road, and then from there took a left into a cobblestoned driveway lined with lush green hedges and a perfectly manicured lawn. Approaching ahead of them was a handsome brown palace, because no other word was fit to describe it, with a few black cars parked on the driveway and a blue-and-white flag flying atop one of its turrets. It had turrets. (7)
“They call it a hall, but indeed, it’s a palace,” Roy chuckled.
“That makes no sense.”
Upon debarking, Ed acquired an instantaneous neckache. The structure was compact but tall, perhaps six or seven stories, not including basement space. The exterior was a weathered yet stately brown, with crawling, flowering vines now bursting into a riot of violets and yellows and blues. All around them, spreading out in a show of extravagant space, the lawn and what looked like distant gardens painted a canvas of verdant spring.
“Ed!” Kanon and Jacob came bursting from the front doors, dodging men in livery awaiting the newly arrived guests.
“Hi, guys,” Ed grinned. They were part of the reason Ed wasn’t so bummed about having to be here today. “Nice house.”
“Not mine,” they both said in unison, parking themselves on either side of Ed. “Nice coat!” Jacob complimented, petting the wool.
“Sure, don’t mind me, I’m no big deal,” Roy snarked, fetching the keys from Havoc, who gave a jaunty little salute before heading back for the gates on foot. Ed gave the lieutenant a farewell wave.
“You aren’t a big deal anymore, you gave that up to this one here,” Kanon gave Roy a shit-eating grin. “I’ve told you before, old man, the more you work at that dreadful place, the more tedious you become!”
“Kanon!” Karenina Firat emerged from indoors, standing at the threshold with hands on her waist. “We do not insult our guests before they have even set foot inside the house!”
“Yes, do wait until they’re at least indoors, it’s only polite,” Julia’s voice from somewhere behind Karenina. “Is that Roy I hear feeling ignored?” she then asked with a cackle. “Pardon him, he’s unused to the feeling of being unmanned.”
Ed snickered unabashedly at Roy’s expense; for his part, the man looked quite ready to play the game, striding towards the house to give Karenina a cheek to cheek before going further inside. “I’ll take the unmanning if it’s from you, my dear Julia. How do you do, Karen?”
“Well, thank you, hello, young man,” Karenina turned to Ed in one smooth motion, greeting him with a cheek to cheek as well. “You’re looking quite handsome today. The colour looks lovely on you.”
“Thanks,” Ed smiled, a bit of a blush rising to his cheeks.
Inside the foyer, Roy was already fully engaged in a four-way verbal spar with Julia, Jason, and Mira Armstrong who was present with her family. Ed took the surroundings in, enjoying the warmth of the rich cedarwood panelling and the harmonic colours of the drapes. A footman approached him and offered to take his coat just as the front doors closed behind them. Kanon and Jacob then tugged him further inside, past an elegantly appointed sitting room meant to entertain strange guests, down a hall with paintings and portraits on either side, and into a spacious dining hall with a long table set for what looked like twenty or so guests. There were already people at the table.
“I hope we didn’t keep you waiting,” Roy smiled in perfect form, charm dialled up to a hundred percent. He took Anne Firat’s hand for a quick kiss and then shook hands with Julius, the patriarch and today’s host.
“No, no, the Armstrongs have also just arrived and settled in. Good to see you doing well, young man!”
Roy went to repeat the same process with Madam Evelyn Armstrong and her husband Lucas, then onwards to the daughter Catherine, a handshake for young Joseph Firat, and an arm clasp with tall and imposing Major Armstrong.
“Ah, our young alchemist,” Julius turned with a broad smile, “I believe congratulations are in order! Allow me to formally welcome you to Firat Hall, Edward. We are delighted to have you as our guest. We hope it will become something of a habit, yes?”
Ed shook hands with the older man. “Well, if Kanon and Jacob have a say in the matter, it just might, sir. And thank you for allowing me into your home. It’s a beautiful palace. Er, hall. House?”
Everyone shared a laugh, Jason clapping him on the shoulder genially. “Formally, it’s called Firat Hall, but technically, it’s a palace. To us, though, it’s just home.”
The Firats had no business having just anything, but Ed kept that remark to himself. After a few more handshakes and cheek-to-cheeks, they sat to eat, Ed sandwiched quite happily between Kanon and Roy. They did that on purpose to make him feel more comfortable; he appreciated it.
There were younger children in the next room, he realised, perhaps Jason and Karenina’s kids. He briefly glimpsed them through an adjoining door when it opened to allow a tray-bearing manservant past. Children were to dine at a separate table for such events, Ed knew, to remove them from discussions that could potentially be unsuitable for their ears. Strictly speaking, he was young enough to be relegated at such a table, except he was respected as a contributing entity today, so he sat with the adults. He knew he liked the Firats for a reason.
Conversation was light for the better part of the meal. The food was delicious and the eating of it made even more of a pleasure as everyone heaped praise upon his remarkable performance during the exams. Despite himself, Ed preened, and the Gate inside preened along with him. Beside him, Roy chuckled along and allowed him the shower of praises. Positive reinforcement was a real thing.
“A beautiful title the Fuhrer has given you,” Evelyn Armstrong remarked, “so unique. Protean. It’s almost poetic, isn’t it, husband?” Lucas Armstrong nodded along.
“I wasn’t privy to the examinations in person,” Anne Firat was saying, “but of course I’ve heard all about it, which only serves to make one curiouser! Might we ask for a demonstration after lunch, Edward? For myself and Evelyn, who was similarly absent from the examination hall.”
“Yes, yes, let’s see what you’re about,” Julia nodded, “since you’ve been the talk of both of my little brothers, who are more asocial than a brick wall.”
“Hey—we have a social circle,” Jacob shot back, “and I have friends.”
“One circle,” Julia smirked, “of the same friends. For a decade, Jacob!”
“It’s called loyalty,” Jacob sniped, stabbing a broccoli with his fork, “not that you would know. Not everyone gets around like you.”
“Ooooh,” Karenina, Kanon, and Roy all crooned. The matriarchs and patriarchs only chuckled.
“Jealous, little brother? I can set you up,” Julia recouped without missing a beat.
“Jules,” Jason sighed, “quit before he explodes.”
True enough, Jacob looked red and flustered. Kanon laughed and gave him conciliatory pats on the shoulder. “Don’t mind her, Jacob, she goes through her men like they’re clothes. If she knew any better, she’d pick higher quality ones so she could keep them for longer.”
“Oooooh,” Karenina, Roy, and Jason all crooned.
“Damn,” Ed blinked up at Kanon in admiration. “Teach me your skills. I need them to cope with this one,” he jabbed a thumb at Roy.
“A bold assumption that there even exist men who are quality enough to keep,” Mira pointed out, slicing a marinated sausage with one jerk of her knife. “Excluding Papa and Uncle Julius, of course, they’re born of a different generation as the lousy ones we now have to put up with.” Julia toasted her a glass of wine.
Waaaait for it, Ed grimaced and braced himself for Roy’s comeback, which—
“Mira, you only need allow me to convince you otherwise,” Roy grinned, “I can make you see the light.”
Yep. There he goes, in rare form.
Julia and Karenina both erupted in peals of bright laughter; even the matriarchs couldn’t help it. The innuendo was not lost on anyone; demure Catherine was bright red mess. Joseph was clearing his throat on a glass of water and Kanon reached around Ed to thump Roy on the back.
Ed, for his part, only sighed in dismay. He shook his head, pushing around a bit of carrot and some potatoes. “And here I wanted to finish my plate, but you had to go ruining my appetite.”
Roy chuckled. “You need to develop an iron constitution if you don’t want to starve at this table, Ed. Now I do believe there is dessert…”
And there was dessert: a choice of eclairs, pudding, and three different types of cake. How did these people not gain weight if they ate like this everyday? Ed needed to get back into the habit of exercise. If he wasn’t careful, he too would start gaining weight.
After dessert and more lively conversation, they took tea to a drawing room overlooking what must be the back garden, which was a riot of colour this time of the year. Ed went to the windows to admire it; the weather was still a tad too nippy for the glass doors to be thrown open, but in a few weeks’ time, this would be a beautiful, fragrant space to while away an afternoon. (8)
The children were released from their separate table and now ran about the place, excited at the prospect of new visitors. Ed was introduced to Hans and Helen Firat, Jason and Karenina’s two children. Both were bright, eruditely spoken, and well-behaved for their age. Respectively seven and five, they were already aspiring scientists, boasting to Ed about the experiment they did with their grandfather the previous week.
“…and we learned about the structure of a cat’s lungs! Grandpapa showed us the veins and the arteries, they’re like trees,” Hans rattled off at Ed, who nodded along. “Have you ever seen a cat’s lungs, Edward?”
“You can call me Ed, and no, not a cat’s lungs, but I’ve seen human ones.”
Both children’s eyes grew large and fascinated. “Where? When? How?”
“Ah, when I was apprenticed under my alchemical master.”
“Is it true you’re a State Alchemist?” Hans asked.
“How old are you, Ed?” Helen asked.
“Er, yes, I’m State-licensed, and I’m twelve.”
Their eyes grew even larger and they drew simultaneous gasps. “Wow. You must be really smart.”
“You’ve gone and done it,” Jason sighed, “they’ll pester you now.”
Ed looked up at the adults. “Was I supposed to lie?” They laughed.
“He has some sort of charm with little children, it’s quite amusing,” Roy told Karenina. “Shou Tucker’s little girl was all over him too, she’s about the same age.”
Lucas Armstrong hemmed and hawed, turning to Ed. “And how did you find the Sewing Life Alchemist, Edward? You studied with him for a time, surely it was enough to form an impression.”
Ed shrugged. “Three days at Mr. Tucker’s place, not too much interaction actually… he kept to his basement for the most part. He’s alright, I suppose. Bit timid. But he seems to know what he’s about. Of course I wasn’t allowed to see his research, but from what I’ve read of his previous publications, he’s a fine practitioner. I think they overwork him too much, though. He looked kind of weak. The dog could run him over if it tried.”
“It’s that time of the year,” Roy smiled, though humourless and grim. “Reappraisals. He’s due to present his updates to the Committee next week, like everyone else.”
“Are you due?” Ed asked. “Wait. Your contract is combat. No, it’s both. Ugh, I’m confused. You’re confusing.”
“Mm, I have a digest on the effect of amplifiers on combination reactions currently under review with Ars Alchemica,” Roy said. “That’ll be enough for my reappraisal.”
Ed did a double-take. “Since when did you have the time?”
“I hate you,” Kanon flatly declared.
“I want to read it,” Jacob demanded.
“Another Ars Alchemica issue,” Alex Armstrong remarked, “that is impressive, Colonel. I look forward to it.”
“Enough for another promotion?” asked Jason, eliciting a noise of disgust from where Mira and Julia sat together.
“No,” Roy chuckled, “too soon. And it’s guaranteed to infuriate Spahn, so I’m sure he’ll be raising enough of a stink that I won’t get anything for it.”
“Why?” asked Ed. “He’s always angry. What’s he angry about this time?”
“He’s sponsoring Nash Tringham’s son, remember? And Russell Tringham is hard at work at perfecting his father’s amplifier.”
Ed grimaced. “Oh, so they would have wanted the article to come from their quarter instead of from you. But even if they wrote it, they’d never give it as much justice as you could. They’ve never used an amplifier in combat before. You have.”
Silence descended upon the room, disturbed only by the quiet chattering of the two children sat near the windows. Ed looked around and then back up at Roy, now alarmed.
“…my bad. They didn’t know, did they. How much damage did I just do?”
But Roy only smiled, placing a soothing hand atop his head. “No damage. I told you I don’t talk about it much. Not a whole lot of people know.”
“The Bloodsands?” Lucas then asked, casual as you please, as if Ed hadn’t just dropped a veritable bomb of information in their midst.
Roy tilted his head. “They distributed Tringham’s third stable batch of the Stones just a few days prior. It would be the last batch he would produce. He went missing about three weeks after, if I recall correctly. I think I might have made him quit.”
The room was once again silent for a moment, before Ed shrugged. “He should have known what his research might be used for, but I guess he couldn’t have predicted you. And you say his son’s producing a better batch under Spahn now?”
“I don’t know about better since I haven’t tried it,” Roy said, “but it’s definitely more viable-looking. Stabilised with radium, therefore likely to be very potent.”
“Radium?” Jacob echoed, aghast.
Kanon gave a bark of humourless laughter. “Kid’s killing himself—and they’re letting him.”
“I hope you don’t get ideas to do anything similar, Edward,” Julius sternly admonished. “Radium is extremely harmful to organic matter. We still don’t understand how exactly it damages tissue, but we know it is causative of tumours, which, although slow-growing, are fatal.”
“Well, I can tell you how it damages molecules, if that helps,” Ed pointed out, “and no, sir, with respect, I’m not that stupid, or desperate.”
Jacob clicked his tongue. “It damages molecules through particle radiation—essentially knocking electrons off atoms it passes by—but to translate that into living tissue—”
“Atomic binding property is dependent on electron density and availability,” Ed explained, “so if the particle radiation knocks off a few electrons from a handful of, say, cholesterol molecules comprising the wall of a single cell on my skin, then that cholesterol molecule’s binding capacity will change. That might cause it to be less adherent or maladherent to its fellow lipid molecules, disrupting the bilayer that forms the wall. If the wall collapses, then the cell pops—damage cascade. At least, that’s how I’ve been taught it works. My biology’s weaker than my chemistry, but I did grow up with an uncle and aunt who were both doctors.”
“Tumours, though?” said Kanon.
Ed shrugged. “Not a bioalchemist, remember? I don’t know enough of normal body processes on that level to really—”
Jacob grabbed his shoulder at once. “I’ll need your signature—that’s a great idea—if I publish anything out of it, I’ll be sure to credit you—you can even help if you like.”
“Er, sure. Sounds interesting, keep me posted.” Ed turned back to Roy. “So is anyone keeping an eye on the Tringham kid to make sure he doesn’t collapse?”
“Spahn wouldn’t let his precious investment burn out before he can get anything out of it,” Mira snorted. “That’s what you become, you State Alchemists. Investments. The best tools for the military to use in whatever manner they like. You seem to be coping well enough with that, though.”
“I wouldn’t have tested if I wasn’t capable of coping.”
“And you’re still fine being posted under Mustang even after hearing about what he’s done.”
This again? Ed smiled. “People are more than the worst thing they have ever done in their life.” (9)
His words silenced the room for a second time. Roy’s hand landed on his shoulder once again, a warm weight of wordless gratitude.
“Touching,” Mira coldly smiled, “but you’re wrong on one account.” She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees. “That move was perhaps the best thing Mustang has ever done for himself; it cemented his reputation and it showed everyone what he was willing to sacrifice in order to get where he needs to go.”
“That’s nice, but you’re also wrong,” Ed snarked back, “because finding me was the best thing Roy has ever done for himself. We’ve already established this and he agrees with me, right, Roy?”
Everyone in the room laughed, even Mira, who did so mockingly.
“You laugh,” Ed shrugged, “but it’s true. Luckily for me, I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“That’s just the thing,” Roy quietly chuckled from beside him. “You do.”
Ed turned to him and frowned. “Since when?”
“Since she’s signing on as your financial sponsor, slowpoke. Why do you think we’re here today?”
Ed whined, “She’s not an alchemist, Roy. Explaining to non-alchemists is hard.”
“But we must still try,” Roy encouraged, “and besides, Mira is quite smart. She also has an alchemist for a brother. I daresay she’ll be able to keep up.”
“But, like, how much?”
And he wasn’t jesting about the question, even though it made the room laugh; he needed to know what Roy thought would be okay to share with this group. Should he talk about his brother? Or should he hide everything? Of course he couldn’t say anything about his mother, or his father, or the human transmutation, per se, but—
“I thought you said you haven’t done anything forbidden,” Kanon raised an eyebrow, leaning lightly against the arm of his chair. To Jacob’s questioning look, he answered, “I asked him yesterday about the nature of his alchemy. Dornseifer’s little hypothesis, remember? It sounds interesting enough, although Cyril hates the guy.” Jacob only grunted, turning back to peer at Ed.
“I didn’t,” Ed sighed, “do anything forbidden.” Technically, no knowledge or action is forbidden by the Gate. It’s just that everything has a price, and it’s usually more expensive than people are prepared to pay.
Very true, agreed the Gate.
Julia, a non-alchemist, clicked her tongue in annoyance. “What are we talking about now? Catch the rest of us up,” she said impatiently.
“Ed’s brand of alchemy,” Kanon mimicked his clap, “which appears to use no arrays—nothing visible, at least... been the talk of the town. There’s a rogue thought about it—Dornseifer’s a pretty ardent believer—that the alchemist must perform a forbidden transmutation, and if they survive it, they walk away with a special set of skills.”
“But usually they don’t survive, I take it?” said Julia.
“Forbidden alchemy is forbidden for a reason,” Alex Armstrong frowned, daintily setting down his teacup in its saucer. The china looked laughably tiny and delicate in his overlarge, muscled hands. “People have died in its pursuit. Even the brightest alchemists cannot circumvent the laws of nature.”
God, this was awful. The back of Ed’s neck was sweating; thankfully, his collar hid the fact. With discipline he learned at Izumi’s feet, he stamped down the urge to fidget and he resolutely did not look at Roy.
“Oh, but I don’t understand—what do you mean, alchemy with no arrays?” Anne Firat asked, leaning forward in keen interest. Just then, little Helen darted forward and crawled into Julius’ lap, upending the teacup and saucer that was sitting on the arm of his leather chair.
The china shattered on the floor with a crash, prompting a gasp of dismay from the child, followed by a whimper. “I-I’m sorry, grandpapa, I-I didn’t mean to...”
Hans, who was standing next to the armchair, crouched down to reach for the shards.
“Hans, no, come here,” Jason herded his child over before any injury could occur. Julius, in turn, put Helen squarely in his lap and soothed her before she could burst into tears.
It was near enough that Ed could quickly step over before the servants could clean it up. He clapped his hands and held them over the scattered shards, the correct array fixed into his mind’s eye as the energy rushed forth from his body. In seconds, the teacup and saucer sat whole in his hands, perfect and without a single chip to show the damage that just occurred.
“Oh,” Julia blinked, hand dropping from beneath her chin. “I see.”
“How fascinating!” Evelyn remarked, leaning over to examine the repaired teacup as Ed handed it to the lady Anne.
“It’s quite exceptional, isn’t it?” Roy smiled.
“So you say,” Mira interjected, flinty blue eyes attempting to pierce through Ed, “except I don’t see the catch, Mustang. What’s to distinguish him from the rest of the rabble?” she motioned towards Kanon and Jacob. “Justify to me as to why I should put my name behind yours.”
“I thought we’ve already talked about this,” said Roy.
“And the reality of it is now upon us, so justify it to me once again.” Roy did like his women demanding and hard to please.
“You didn’t really expect me to test, did you?” Ed asked. “You thought Roy wouldn’t let me.”
Mira only levelled both of them with a look.
“It’s not so much the lack of visible arrays that’s remarkable about Ed,” Roy began, “but the fact that he uses so many of them. Just like that, without effort. For example, to repair that teacup: a substance manipulation array that would move the shards back into shape, with scripts to dictate that shape, and sigils to regulate the energy, and precise calculations to gauge how much energy is needed for that amount of porcelain. Then that would have to be followed with a recombination array that would bind the porcelain back together in such a way that would not show the damage. He did it in seconds, without hesitation. Can you do that in seconds?” he asked Kanon and Jacob. “No, neither can I.”
Roy shifted in his seat and continued, “He uses alchemy like it’s an extension of his own body. As if it’s just a limb he can command at will. Even for simple things—drying his hair, heating water, cleaning after the dog... truly exceptional. There aren’t very many people who can construct arrays and perform such quick mental calculations, Mira, and be accurate every time.”
Ed frowned at that. “You do it,” he pointed out, “and you have to be even more accurate than I do. Combustion and all. The atmospheric considerations for each snap. The quality of available fuel, the amount of energy, and the forward speed of that spark.”
Roy shrugged in acquiescence. “I am, however, a specialist.”
“Ugh,” Kanon gagged in disgust. “Geniuses.”
“You just—you have to talk to the energy,” Ed tried to explain, motioning emphatically with his arms like so. “The energy knows—and the array, it’s just a guide, a pattern, but really it should all be in your head! And it’s all about knowing clearly what you want to achieve, because the energy hates indecision. When you put your hands on that circle, you can’t be thinking, oh I hope this works—you have to mean it.”
Jacob turns to Kanon then. “It’s like those self-help books they sell at the thrift bookstore near the riverbank. Success is a mindset—if you think it, then you’ll be it, or some shit like that.”
Ed threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know how else to explain it. It’s just a feel for the thing.”
“Is there anyone else who can do your type of alchemy?” Mira then asked, changing track.
“Um, well, my alchemical master can, but she’s very anti-martial, so you won’t ever see her apply for State licensure. I’m sure Roy would get it too, if he had time to study.” Maybe.
“What about your brother?” Kanon then asked. “Can he do it too?”
Ah, shit, that’s right, I’d mentioned Al. “Not... entirely sure. We technically split ways after I went with Roy. My master didn’t like that much. Philosophical disagreement. My brother’s still with her, so we’re, ah...”
“It is a violation of his apprenticeship if he shared his secrets with you,” Alex nodded in understanding. “I am sorry that you have had to be separated.”
Ed shrugged. “We talked and agreed on it.”
“Parents?” Mira again.
“Father out there somewhere, who knows. Mum’s back home, she’s not an alchemist. Lives with my cousin and granny. She let us go train with our master when we were little; we can be real annoying when we want to be,” Ed grinned.
“What about your automail? A train track accident, you said,” Alex prompted, blue eyes calm and deep.
He still suspects.
Karenina gasped, hand flying to her chest. “Automail? But you’re so young!”
“Right arm, left leg,” Ed wiggled his automail fingers. “Our house is near the train tracks that run past the town. It was stupid. My granny’s an automail mechanic. I wanted it; can’t stay in a wheelchair for the rest of my life when there’s a perfectly valid alternative just there.” He didn’t say anything of Roy paying for the automail, because it would open questions as to why Roy happened to be there just at the right time. For all they knew, Ed was the one who came to Roy, showing up a lost child at Central Station.
“I knew there was something about your gait,” Julia followed, eyeing his leg. “You hide it well.”
“Goodness, that’s just unbelievable,” Jason murmured, aghast. “And how old were you when it was done? Do you have a doctor here in Central to look after the ports? You’re so young—you risk impeding your natural bone development with the weight of the ports and the limbs!”
“Er, I just turned eleven, and, um, about the doctor...” Ed looked up at Roy.
“Geralds was his doctor,” Roy quietly revealed, “for all of one afternoon.”
“Oh,” Julia raised both eyebrows, now leaning back in her chair. “So he died a horrible fiery death. I did wonder about that.”
Roy gave a cold smile in response. “I am alchemist first and foremost; I aspire to equivalent exchange. Would that I could, he would have died seven more deaths for the seven other lives he took. He should have known that, but perhaps he was overcome by his greed. In any case, Edward is spoken for; I took him under my wing, and that means he is mine to protect.”
And once again, for the third time, the room was silenced beneath Roy’s words. Ed shivered, suddenly cold; Roy was willing to go that far for him. Was it wrong to feel so, so vindicated and relieved?
Mira, who was still looking over them with seeking eyes, clicked her tongue but said nothing. Likely she agreed to Roy’s methods; she would have done the same thing. Ed met her gaze with one of his own, even and unflinching. He had nothing to hide. She had to believe that.
“What I need to know now,” Mira slowly began again, after another stretch of silence, “are what threats I should anticipate if I am to throw my lot with you.”
Ed blinked. “Well, um, you should know better than I do, I mean, whatever threatens Roy threatens me.”
Mira grimaced.
“There are plenty of contingency plans in place,” Roy assured her, “and I do not lack favours in fortuitous places.”
“You piss off too many people.”
“So do you.”
“You’re too arrogant.”
“So are you.”
“You manoeuvre too fast!”
“So should you, and by the by, being in that fortress is doing your marriage prospects no good.”
“What would you know of commitment, knave?”
Knave? Ed rolled his eyes. “Alright, mum and dad, get a room.”
Everyone laughed—everyone, that is, except for the two involved.
“It’s gonna happen at some point,” Julia nudged Mira with a snicker, “I mean, you’re already acquiring co-custody of a child together! All that’s missing is the bedroom action...”
“Augh, please stop,” Ed made a face, “I don’t need that in my head.”
The ribbing continued for quite a while, good-natured laughter flowing around the room, watered by the tea. Distracted with Roy’s wiles, Mira seemed to be content leaving her interrogation at that. Lucas Armstrong, however, was not yet finished with Edward.
“Young man,” he asked Ed, “is there anything you require at this time as you begin your research?”
“Oh, er, no, sir, so far the First Library’s all I need.”
Lucas nodded, smiling down at him. “When you begin to require assistance in any quarter and your Colonel is unable to help you or otherwise occupied, come to me. It is the Armstrong family’s privilege to help you. All we ask is that you come to us first and foremost; if, after discussing with us, you find our terms of aid unreasonable or insufficient, then you are free to seek aid elsewhere. Mira will be returning to Briggs Fortress next week, so she will be far from you, but we are always here in her stead. That is what it means for us to sponsor you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ed smiled, “I’ll take care to remember that.” The Armstrongs would be more useful for political leverage in the future. They were certainly wealthy, but Edward had a large grant he could use now. Money was not the only relevant currency.
Roy’s hand landed once more on his shoulder, calling his attention. “Ed, were you listening?”
“No, sorry, what?”
“I was telling Jason and Karen about needing a primary physician for you, so that someone may look after your ports. The military will require it anyhow. I am signing up to be under Jason’s care. Karen is a paediatrician; would you be amenable to an arrangement?”
Ah, yes, Roy’s other agenda for the day.
“Sure,” Ed shrugged; these people were easier to hold accountable to privacy than some random doctor whose provenance and interests Ed did not know.
He took a moment to step aside with Karenina to sign some papers and shake on an agreement. He would return for a physical later in the coming week. When they returned to the room, people had moved around, everyone gathered and facing towards a particular corner.
“Ah, they seem to have parked Roy at the piano already.”
Yep, that was Roy, playing romantic tunes as was his wont, and was that singing Ed could hear?
Curiously, Ed came closer to find Roy at the piano and Julia beside him on a stool. She was sitting cross-legged, her sharp-heeled shoe dangling off her toes. An elbow on her knee, a glass of champagne in the other hand, her silk sleeves unbuttoned and pushed up her arms, she was the very picture of indulgent elegance.
No, no, that wasn’t the word. How to describe it?
Seductive, the Gate purred then, that’s the word you’re looking for.
Ed shivered, unsure that he even understood what the word entailed. It was a term that up until now existed in the realm of adults.
But you’re entering that world now, the Gate pointed out, and you need to understand how it works.
Well, sure. Ed never shied away from learning either. He sat at an empty seat to listen, noting that he wasn’t the only one under the thrall of Julia’s voice. Little Helen was still perched on her grandfather’s knee, but now had eyes only for her aunt. Catherine swayed and hummed along with the song she obviously knew, while the elder Armstrongs and Firats simply sat back to savour the music.
“Shall we dance?
On a bright cloud of music
Shall we fly? Shall we dance?
Shall we then say goodnight and mean goodbye?
Or perchance when the last little star has left the sky,
shall we still be together with our arms around each other
and shall you be my new romance?” (10)
Music was mathematics too, Ed thought. A playful kind of mathematics, leaping and bounding within the confines of the progression of time. Improvisation on a theme, like derivatives working off the most beautiful equations in nature. Karenina began to sing with Julia on the next verse, creating a beautiful harmony, two lines twining around each other. Ed smiled. He couldn’t imagine life without alchemy—perish the very thought—but there was more than one way to ask a question, and for those who did not have alchemy, well, music was as fine a way to ask the big questions as the very complex equations of life.
Roy went into a playful, bright solo just as Jason leapt up and swung his wife into a circle, dancing and laughing together. Catherine also jumped up, twirling happily in her skirt, quite at home with the Firats that she felt no shyness about taking Alex Armstrong’s large hands up to coax him into a dance.
It was different from what he knew, this family, but they were a family nonetheless. He thought about his mother and his brother, his master, Granny Pinako and Winry, all the people in what was once his very narrow, constricted world. Now he was here, sitting inside a palace beside people who were descended from the very founders of Amestris. This certainly hadn’t been the intention, but he was quickly learning that nothing in life ever happened according to plan. Plans were lies they created to fool themselves. In truth, they were all just muddling along, pretending that they could see where they were headed instead of being the blind leading the blind.
But we can’t very well sit in the same spot our entire lives, can we? Ah, well. Entropy will take us where it will. Ed sat back and closed his eyes to savour the beauty.
True to his word, Ed began an exercise regimen the very next day. It was a Saturday and they woke later than their usual, but he dragged Roy outside all the same, citing his tired-looking complexion as a reason to get up and move.
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to start looking like Mr. Tucker,” Ed warned. “Speaking of Mr. Tucker, d’you think we can visit? I promised Nina I’d come play with her once the exams were over.”
“Sure,” Roy yawned, straightening up from a hamstring stretch. “I can take you today. I’ll go check up on a few other things while you’re there.”
They warmed up with a light jog around the yard, making figure eights around the trees where Maes wanted to put up a swing for Elysia in the future. Dog loped alongside them, every now and then rolling around in the grass like an absolute lunatic. Ed would have to get all the dirt out from his fur again.
“Okay, here we go,” Ed enumerated the regimen for Roy. “Think you can keep up, old man?”
Affronted, Roy turned up his nose. “Brat. You’ll be left behind.”
It was better exercising together, Ed realised, as the competition kept them going when otherwise they would have quit. They went through bodyweight squats, split jumps, lateral lunges, push-ups, tricep dips, jumping jacks, hanging sit-ups (Ed transmuted wooden bars they could hang upside-down from), and pull-ups. After three rounds with a minute break in between, they were plastered on the grass, out of breath and dripping with sweat.
“Ugh,” Roy groaned, “my back.”
“That’s what you get for sitting at that desk all the time,” Ed laughed, still panting and winded but happy. Movement brought blood flow to the brain and flooded him with endorphins. His whole body tingled with energy.
A shadow darkened the sky above them. Ed opened his eyes to find Maes standing over them with a camera in his hands. Click!
“Maes,” Roy groaned.
“Roy!” Maes chirped. “Good morning!”
“The morning is no longer good now that you’re here.”
“Rude! And here I was going to offer you breakfast!”
“Breakfast?” Ed sat up, looking toward Maes’ house, where Gracia was visible through the kitchen window, cooking. “Gracia’s breakfast!”
Ed hopped to his feet, earning a bark from Dog. Roy took Maes’ hand and levered himself up with a grunt, stretching into a spine-cracking backbend once upright.
“Your age is showing,” Maes chortled. “Kid’s gonna run you into the ground at this rate.”
“Apparently, I sit too much. Ugh, my back.”
Sweat-soaked and exhausted though they were, Gracia welcomed them to her table all the same. There was a generous spread of sausage, eggs, and oatmeal for breakfast, as well as a selection of fresh fruit. Little Elysia joined them in her cot, watching with wide, alert eyes; she had already finished her warm bottle of milk before Gracia got her ready for the day.
Gracia complimented Ed for his physical efforts and offered him a freshly sliced peach. Roy pouted about it, citing favouritism and the like. Ed snickered at Roy and crooned at Elysia, who made batting motions with her little arms when he reached to tickle her. Maes declared that Elysia was the grandest thing in the world.
All in all, it was a lovely morning, and when they later emerged from their respective rooms ready to visit Mr. Tucker, they were quite happy. Even Roy looked fresh, despite his earlier moaning about his aching limbs and sore back. They dressed more casually today, Ed in comfortable trousers and a sweater in preparation for an afternoon of playing with Nina. Roy didn’t want to drive so they took the trams.
“Julia sings really well,” Ed said as they sat in the tram, emptier than it usually was at this hour on the weekdays. “Do you do that often with them?”
“Not always with the whole family like that, but I go out to have drinks with them from time to time, not counting the more formal gatherings where we see each other as well. She studied music since childhood, of course,” Roy pointed out.
“Of course,” because far be it for a Firat child to lack education in anything. “Karen is nice, I like her. She treated me like an adult.”
Roy laughed. “If only everyone would, right? But most people are fooled by how young you look.”
“Oh, Mr. Tucker wasn’t,” Ed pointed out, “and Maes.”
“Maes doesn’t count, but that’s a credit to Tucker.”
Soon they left the tram and walked the rest of the way to that white house with a brown roof and a blue door. Roy pointed out several places to visit as they passed by, this neighbourhood being a middle-class one but nevertheless full of wonderful little places that served great food or held great company.
“That one there is one of Heymans’ favourite spots. Apparently on Tuesdays and Thursdays, a chess tournament happens in the evening.”
“Aren’t people drinking by then?”
“Some of the most creative decisions are made when drunk,” Roy pronounced with great equanimity.
Ed rolled his eyes. “You’re just a bunch of alcoholics.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll catch up.”
“No, thanks, bad for the liver. Hey, here we are!” The house looked even more subdued than usual today, curtains drawn except for the window in the living room under which Ed and Nina sat that one day he came over to study. “I hope they’re home.”
“Let’s hope,” Roy reached for the doorbell.
It rang but no one answered, the house remaining silent. Ed shifted from foot to foot. After a minute, Roy rang the bell again. Still no answer. They exchanged looks before Roy reached for the knocker. No one answered that either. Ed couldn’t even hear footsteps on the other side.
Maybe as a last resort, or for what other reason Ed didn’t know, Roy tried the door handle and found it unlocked. The door creaked open; the threshold was dark.
Something.
There was something captivating about how the shadow fell across the hallway floor, slanting across the wooden floorboards and the edge of the long rug that must have been a relic of Tucker’s estranged wife. Ed couldn’t tell what kept them from walking away when it was obvious that no one was home. There was something about it though…
“Hello? Mr. Tucker? Nina? Anyone home?” Ed stepped into the threshold as he called out. It hit him then; the hairs on his arm stood up on end.
Something was wrong.
Roy must have felt it too. “Edward,” the man held him back with a hand on his shoulder. It was a gloved hand, Ed realised with a jolt. “Stay behind me.”
It wouldn’t do to be ahead of him; Roy needed a clear line of sight. Ed let Roy step ahead and followed close behind, allowing the front door to shut quietly behind them. They paused to let their eyes adjust to the gloom.
Roy looked in the living room and found nobody; likewise, Ed peeked further down the hallway and found only shadows.
“Roy,” he muttered, “I don’t hear anything. Not even from upstairs. Where’s the dog?”
Roy didn’t respond, looking at the stairs curving at the end of the hallway but making no move towards it. Instead, his eyes slowly panned to look towards the narrow steps leading into the basement. A slow sense of dread began pooling in Ed’s gut.
“Behind me,” Roy said again, quieter this time. He took a moment to don his other glove.
Down the steps they went, Ed’s palm sweating in tension. Roy turned the door handle and once again found it open. It made no noise as it swung inwards, and at last there was a sign of life.
A lamp was lit on a desk set against a far wall. There were books and papers strewn on the table, on chairs, and even on the floor. The basement was spacious but it was made narrower because of the clutter, and all around them were cages varying in size. Stacked on top of each other, each cage held some sort of animal; they rustled, quivered, and growled in the dark, iridescent eyes tracking them as they stepped into the workroom.
Ed, however, could not pay the animals any attention. They had stopped near the doorway, Roy holding out an arm to keep him behind, for in the middle of the room, space was made for a large circle that was still chalked into the floor. Within it was a mass of golden brown fur, and it was—shivering?
“Oh,” said a croaking whisper from the corner, “we have visitors.”
There he was, Mr. Tucker, sitting with his back against an empty cage near the desk. Ed barely noticed him; Tucker barely moved to breathe. The man looked more shrunken and emaciated than he did the last time they saw each other, and perhaps he was unable to lever himself up off the floor to get food or water. He sat facing the transmutation circle and whatever chimera it was that he made—because that was what it had to be, a chimera, a new achievement for Tucker to show the military.
“Mr. Tucker,” Roy calmly spoke, “my apologies. We rang several times but no one answered. We merely wanted to ensure that everything was alright. Do you require any assistance?”
“Assistance…” Tucker murmured, “do I require assistance, he asks…”
Yes, you do, Ed thought, because Tucker was not alright. There was something wrong here, something—
“Ed… ward.”
Ed jumped. The mass of fur sitting amid the circle slowly turned its face towards them.
“Bro… ther… Ed… ward. It… hurts. Help… please… hurts.”
No.
“Can’t… play… it… hurts,” the chimera whimpered, shuffling laboriously forward. Its golden brown fur was matted and dirty, but its eyes were big and clear, in a shade of brown exactly the same as Nina’s eyes. “Ed… ward.”
No, no, no, no, not this.
With shaking hands, Ed reached for the chimera, petting its fur, which was the same fur that Alexander the dog shed all over the house. But those were Nina’s eyes, and Nina’s words, and—
“Nina?” Ed gasped, unable to breathe. Beside him, Roy jerked violently. The chimera bumped its square snout into Ed’s chest, attempting to come nearer—or perhaps to run away. “Mr. Tucker. What have you done?”
“Well, as you can see,” Tucker coughed, “I made Alexander talk.”
At once, Ed was consumed with rage.
“Talk?” Ed screamed, making the chimera whimper. “You made—you made Nina and Alexander into—” Ed caught himself then, cut himself mid-sentence, a flash of realisation searing across his mind, “You monster. Your first chimera—your wife!”
Roy inhaled but said nothing.
“She didn’t leave you—you made her into a chimera! And that’s why it wanted to die!”
Tucker bowed his head, the shine of his glasses obscuring his eyes. “You’ve such a sharp mind. I really am in awe of you. So young and yet so brilliant. It’s because of you, you know.”
Roy then growled, “Oh, don’t you dare—”
“It’s true, Colonel Mustang, you at least must see what I mean,” Tucker coughed again, “it’s because of him that this year, the pressure is immense. His genius has changed everything. The Brigadier General has been breathing down my neck for results. I had to—I was going to lose everything. I just had to, you must understand.”
Understand what? The rage inside Ed grew.
“So it’s my fault?” he stepped around the chimera and in front of Roy. “You’re saying you did this because of me? You fucking monster, you used your own daughter—”
“It’s better this way,” Tucker tried to say, “she doesn’t have to suffer anymore, what with having no mother around—”
“BECAUSE YOU KILLED HER!”
Ed clapped and touched the ground, sparks surging across the room towards Tucker. Concrete ropes shot up from the floor, winding around Tucker’s limbs to hold him in place. The rage boiled over inside of Ed and solidified into a mass of cold determination, a heavy weight like a ball sitting in his chest.
“You want genius? I’ll give you genius,” Ed snarled. “I am going to unravel your life’s work and you are going to sit there and watch.”
“Ed,” Roy put a shoulder on his hand and asked, “what are you doing?”
“We’re fixing this,” Ed jerked his chin towards the chimera. “Help me, Roy. We can fix this.”
It took them the better part of an hour to draw out the new circle after Ed had cleared the old one off the floor. Roy took care of the structure and symmetry; Ed wrote in the scripts. Ruthless and proprietary, Ed yanked on the knowledge he had inherited in the form of the Gate, and for once it relented without a word edgewise, allowing him to sift through its inky strands for direction.
Roy, it turned out, knew quite a bit about molecular fission. Ed only had to explain a little bit and Roy was caught up on the same page. When Ed sketched out his idea and showed it to Roy, the man’s eyes widened first, perhaps in shock, and then hardened with determination. All they had to do to convince themselves of the worthiness of their task was take a glance at the huddled mass of fur near the door, quivering in fear and the pain of an imperfect fusion.
“Ed… ward,” it intoned every now and then, to which Ed would quietly respond, “Just a little while more, Nina, we’ll fix it, I promise.”
“It’s not going to work,” Tucker tried to dissuade them with what little energy he had left. He didn’t even fight his restraints, although he would not have been able to anyway. “You can’t separate what’s already been joined. She’ll die. They’ll both die. You’ll kill them.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Ed jammed a crumpled wad of paper into Tucker’s mouth.
Kneeling on the cold floor, sleeves rolled up and chalk smudges on his cheek, Ed felt an odd sense of confidence settle over him. He was here already, twice before. He knew what to expect. This time, his calculations were correct, and he had enough fare to pay for the Gate to let them through. Roy seemed to trust his direction, constructing the bones of the array to Ed’s specification without question. On the other side of the array, the man was focused on his task, sketching lines with mathematical precision. At least this time Ed wasn’t alone.
When at last they finished, Ed’s neck and shoulder screamed in pain, but the array was perfect. Roy finished the last stroke on the final glyph and at once the lines began to hum with power, sweet and heady like only the most potent arrays ever did. They cautiously stepped out of the live array and met each other’s eyes.
If this doesn’t work, Roy wanted to say; it will, Ed was sure of it.
The next task was to coax the chimera into the circle, which fell to Ed, while Roy bodily hauled Tucker into the space made just for him. The man was still restrained but was able to wiggle on the circle, which began to glow once he was put inside.
“I’d give it up if I were you,” Roy quietly told him. “You’re not going anywhere.”
The glow grew brighter as the chimera stepped into the circle. All the animals around them shuffled and whimpered in their cages, restless and terrified. The chimera was the same. They could all feel the energy building, too large to weather in this confined space.
“It’s alright,” Ed crooned, petting both hands down the chimera’s neck. It looked like a dog, but with an over-large, malformed head. Its ears were all wrong. Ed knew its face would come back to haunt him in his dreams. “It’s alright, Nina, Ed’s got you. This will be quick, alright? I’m sorry for this, but it’s the only way,” he murmured, “it’s the only way to get you back.”
Tucker spat the paper out of his mouth, coughing in distress. “Wh-What are you doing? Why am I in the circle?”
Ed turned to glare at him, lip curling in utmost disgust, “Because, Mr. Tucker, you will be our sacrifice.”
Tucker grew still and pale.
“Ready?” Roy asked, crouched at his position on the rostral line, hands hovering over the activation glyphs.
Ed knelt across from him at the caudal line, their hands echoing each other in symmetry, because symmetry mattered. “On three.”
“One.” The chimera whimpered.
“Two.” Tucker curled up tight.
“Three.”
Rushhh-crackle the energy went, blooming from within and without. The circle blazed with light and life, blinding them as it ripped space apart, and there it was again, that familiar tugging sensation—Ed allowed himself to be pulled, breathing hard, surging forward into—
WHY, HELLO, THERE, LITTLE HOHENHEIM. YOU SEEM TO HAVE MISSED ME.
—everywhere. The voice came from everywhere all at once. It was like the sound of tidal waves crashing on the shore, or the scratch of a thousand nails on a chalkboard, or the violent thrum of a hummingbird’s wings amplified a million times. When Ed could see again, there was a shadowy humanoid figure standing in front of him, with a knife-like smile that he saw everyday inside his own head. It felt like coming home.
AND YOU BROUGHT A FRIEND THIS TIME! HOW THOUGHTFUL OF YOU.
The humanoid shadow turned sideways to acknowledge Roy, who stood across from Ed as if they were still holding their positions on a symmetrical transmutation circle. Roy was breathing fast, blinking as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
ROY MUSTANG, ALSO A STUDENT OF HOHENHEIM. WE ALMOST MET, ONCE.
“Wh… what are you?” Roy whispered, hand twitching with the urge to reach out and touch.
I AM ONE, the shadow grinned, AND ONE IS ALL.
“Roy, meet Gate,” Ed waved an arm about, indicating the whole space. “Gate, you know Roy.” Beside them towered a pair of massive ornate doors, and—yes, there it was: the upside-down tree, its branches curling and twisting outwards, its roots gnarled with the mysteries of space and time. Ed tried to etch it into his memory as best as he could, but who knows how much he would be able to remember this round.
A FITTING EXCHANGE, the Gate remarked, looking upon a terrified Tucker, curled up between them, and the quivering chimera that was half-animal half-child. BUT THE EXCHANGE IS NOT EQUIVALENT.
Roy looked up sharply, catching Ed’s eye.
Ed only nodded to the Gate. “I brought you more than what is necessary.”
A MOST GENEROUS PAYMENT, the Gate agreed, humanoid shadow reaching out a hand towards Tucker’s pathetic form, FOR A SOUL CAN BUY PLENTY.
At once, Tucker seized and began to beg, sobbing, “No, no, please, stop, no, don’t—”
The Gate paid him no heed, its grin fixed even as the large doors swung open behind them. The Void stared back at them from within, reaching out shadowy arms with apparent greed—and Tucker began to disintegrate.
Legs first, bit by bit, then arms, then torso, and finally his head. Layer after layer, all in order, skin and then fat and then muscle and then bone. He came apart in strips methodically torn apart. The last of him was an echo of his scream, terror apparent in the way he begged. But the Gate knew not mercy.
I HAVE RECEIVED MY PAYMENT. NOW FOR YOUR REQUEST.
The other humanoid arm reached out towards the chimera. At once, it began to separate, the dog-like body grotesquely pulling apart to make way for the limbs of a child. Flesh split and bones cracked as Nina was put back together from inside out, first her organs and her bones, then the muscles and the fascia, then the fat layer under the skin, until at last her hair and face and eyes were once again as Ed remembered it to be. Most importantly, her soul: it was a small orb of light that the Gate gently pushed into her body, where it suffused her with a glow that told Ed she was alive.
She hovered there between them, suspended in reconstruction, as Ed and Roy watched in awe. It was done, their exchange, and the light was beginning to fade, but before the transmutation could terminate, the Gate reached out towards both alchemists and said, A PARTING GIFT FOR THE SUCCULENT SOUL YOU HAVE BROUGHT ME IN KIND.
Ed felt the Gate shove something into his head and then the world exploded with light.
I said in mine heart concerning the estate of the sons of men, that God might manifest them, and that they might see that they themselves are beasts. For that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts; even one thing befalleth them: as one dieth, so dieth the other; they have all one breath; so that a man hath no pre-eminence above a beast: for all is vanity. All go unto one place: all are of dust, and all turn to dust again.
( Ecclesiastes 3:18-20, The Holy Bible, King James Version )
The basement was almost pitch black afterwards. Ed cradled a sobbing Nina, shushing her with gentle pets and senseless noises of comfort. They rocked together near the doorway, Ed watching Roy clean up the basement all the while. Roy, for his part, seemed well-recovered, or perhaps reserving his nervous breakdown until they were back behind the privacy of their own home. His hands only shook a little as he snapped to sear the chalk lines off the basement floor. This wasn’t the first time for him either, Ed realised. Roy must have cleaned the basement in Resembool too.
They left a smudged, adulterated version of Tucker’s circle on the floor. They did not touch the animal cages or the books on the table. They did not move the notes on the wall. Roy made it look as thoughtless and messy as he could, while Ed spotted for any evidence of what had transpired after he was done. Once satisfied that all was taken care of, they took Nina upstairs, closing the basement door behind them.
“I’ll get her dressed,” Ed said, heading towards the stairs. “You do what you have to do.”
Roy nodded, wiping the door handles clean of their fingerprints. “It’ll take them less than fifteen minutes to get here, so be fast about it.”
At least Nina was clean, her pale limbs all baby-smooth and flawless. All Ed had to do was wash her face and put her in the next set of clean clothes he could find. Ed also washed his arms and dusted off his sweater to get rid of the chalk dust. They came back downstairs to the beginning of the inquisition, which was headed by a very displeased Brigadier General Gran. Roy was already giving a concise report of their falsified story; Ed quietly approached from the staircase with Nina in his arms.
They went to the living room where Ed picked an armchair and sat with Nina in his lap. Once Roy finished with his version of the story, it was Ed’s turn; he regurgitated the same lines and then shrugged when asked if he had an idea where Tucker might have gone. “He didn’t mention any detail about his extended family or anything of the sort while I was here. But, I mean, he left Nina behind. She was all alone in the house. So he can’t have gone far.”
And when they tried to ask Nina questions, the child only blinked up at them, shaking her head. “I dunno,” she sniffled, cuddling back into Ed’s arms. “Papa was there an’ then I was’sleep an’ then I woke up an’ Ed was there an’ it was dark.”
“Did your Papa tell you if he was going anywhere?” Gran asked in as gentle a tone as he could manage. It still made Nina flinch.
She shook her head, “Papa stays downstairs. Hav’you checked there?”
At this point, Gran’s team was well underway with combing the house for clues, but they weren’t going to find anything. Gran stood and turned back to Roy. “And why were the two of you here again?”
“A social visit, sir,” Roy answered. “Edward had promised Nina that he would return to play with her after the exams. Since Ed is due to put in his hours for research during the weekdays and I have work likewise, the weekend was the best time to stop by.”
They were held in the living room for another hour. Halfway through it, Maes showed up, concerned and a little bit pissed. Someone told him that they were being held; someone found out somehow. Once he saw Roy and Ed relatively whole, he released his concern and retained only his ire.
“A weekend, Roy Mustang, don’t you know I have obligations to my wife?” Maes sniped. “Honestly, I leave you alone for one minute!”
Roy, who would usually have a snipe in return, simply gave him a smile that was more a grimace. Ed waggled his fingers at Maes in the parody of a wave; most of his arm was being strangled by the child in his lap.
Maes pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “So Tucker ran off, is that what it is? Why are you being held up here?”
Gran stepped into the conversation then and said, “We must consider all the angles, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes.”
Maes frowned; Gran didn’t seem to intimidate him much. Ed’s respect for Maes grew. “Yes, well, consider them considered, sir, because it’s frankly preposterous for you to suspect that Roy and Ed did something to harm or maim Major Tucker. Firstly, they have no reasonable motive; secondly, why would they call you afterwards? Thirdly, Ed’s rather fond of the child and, from what I hear, has made friends with Major Tucker through their study days.”
Gran’s frown grew deeper because he could not contest the truth in Maes’ words. Eventually, they were released, once written statements were taken from them.
“You know where to find me, sir, and I have no plans of leaving Central anytime soon,” Roy assured Gran. “You can even put temporary travel holds on me, if it will ease your mind.”
“Same,” Ed shrugged when Gran looked at him, “and I have no need to steal Tucker’s research, because frankly speaking, I could do it better—if ever I developed an interest in bioalchemy, that is.”
Finally, Maes draped a blanket over Nina and said, “I can take his daughter home for now. How does that sound, Nina? I live right next to Ed’s house!” Nina gave him a hesitant smile. To Gran, Maes said, “My wife wouldn’t mind such a darling girl staying over for a few days. You know where to get her when you do find Tucker, although it’s questionable whether the man should be responsible for a little girl if he decides to just disappear like this without even ensuring that she’s taken care of.”
No doubt they would hear more about this in the coming week when inquiries ran cold. But for now, they were allowed to leave. Gran’s crew could not find any evidence of violence, tampering, or theft inside the house, hence no reason to hold them. With only the clothes on his back, it looked like Tucker simply walked away.
Roy and Ed left the house, Ed taking a huge lungful of air as soon as they stepped outside. He hoped never to see this house again. Nina never would, if Ed had anything to say about it.
Maes led the way to the car, which was parked down the street; there were too many military cars crowding directly in front of the house. Roy helped Ed get Nina into the backseat and then sat shotgun, collapsing into the padded seat with a quiet sigh.
“It’s not so unheard of, State Alchemists running away during reappraisals,” Maes was grumbling as they pulled away from the curb. “Don’t know why they were making such a fuss about it. And I had to hear it from Vato! He called the house and tipped me off. Heard about the fuss on the vine. I thought you went there directly after breakfast! It’s been hours; Gran didn’t keep you there for hours, did he?”
“No,” Roy said, sounding somewhat absent, “we ran errands first.”
“Won’t Gracia mind, Maes? Nina, I mean,” Ed asked from the back.
“Of course not! She’s just a little girl. She’s so young, I can’t believe Tucker just up and left her in the house like that!”
“Yeah, well,” Ed shrugged, “like you said. Reappraisals.”
“The stress of it all must have gotten to him,” Maes then said, tone grave. “Desperation makes people do the stupidest things.”
Ed met Roy’s eyes through the rearview mirror and thought, Oh, Maes, you have no idea.
Nina liked Gracia well enough. They left her in the Hughes’ capable care, tucked into bed with her favourite blanket draped over her shoulders and a plush dog Ed alchemised for her from a spare pillow. He tried to make the dog look like Alexander; it ended up looking a bit like the chimera. Whatever.
At their own house, it was cool and dim and quiet. Maes surely had questions for them but it could wait. They went upstairs, where Roy lit the fireplace with a single snap. Ed felt that ripple of energy course through the air. Huh. That was new.
Roy shrugged his jacket off, removed his vest, threw it all aside, and went to lie down on the floor. Removing his own sweater, Ed did the same, stretching out next to Roy and watching the shadows dance on the ceiling. Outside, the sun was almost gone.
“Ed.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know where to start.”
“Yeah.”
Together they laid there, unseeing eyes looking upwards as the knowledge of the Gate unravelled within them. A flower opening, a cornstalk withering, the whole of the universe in the swaying motion of a single mote of dust. The whirling ways of all the stars that passed above their heads. Forces of attraction, the cradle of time. A theory of everything. Metamorphosis. The tree of life.
In the breath between one thought and the next, Ed fell asleep, sinking into dreams full of dizzying illusions and blinding light. He was falling, falling, forever falling off the branch of an upside-down tree—his hand outreached towards a fruit that he almost had in his hand—except this time, in this dream, he was no longer alone. Roy was falling next to him.
I was looking, and behold,
a tree in the midst of the earth,
and its height was great.
The tree grew and became strong;
Its height reached to the heavens,
and it could be seen to the ends of all the earth.
Its leaves were lovely,
its fruit abundant,
and in it was food for all.
The beasts of the field found shade under it,
the birds of the heavens dwelt in its branches,
and all flesh was fed from it.
( Daniel 4:10-12, The Holy Bible, King James Version )
tbc
arc III chapter 12 ver. 02
first draft: 2019.02.17
last edited: 2019.02.19
REFERENCES
(1) The First Library’s entrance hall is based on a stairwell in the Buckingham Palace. Use your imagination; it isn’t a stretch!
(2) Some people probably got it, but this is a reference to Plato’s allegory of the cave, except Ed is being tongue in cheek.
(3) A bit of back to school here! If you’ll recall your intro chem days, Dmitri Mendeleev came up with the Periodic Law and what we know today as the periodic table of elements. Essentially, in their world, Mahler and Montague came up with that same table. Mendeleev’s version was published in 1870 and he was smart enough to leave gaps in the table to allow for elements that were yet undiscovered. Of course the table we have today has expanded far beyond what he initially created, but that’s just progress for you.
(4) In the 2003 anime, Nash Tringham researched the so-called precursor of the Philosopher’s Stone, the Red Water. He was trying to find a way to make it crystallize faster and in a more stable form. He worked with a colleague who then made the suggestion of injecting the Red Water into the unborn foetuses of pregnant mothers, which would of course kill the foetus, but incubate the Red Water and help it solidify. Thought I’d use that because it fit better. I don’t recall if they actually used this storyline in FMA: Brotherhood but I definitely remember it from FMA 2003.
(5) This interesting passage is from the Claveus Germanicus or otherwise titled as Büchlein vom Stein der Weisen (“Booklet of the Philosopher’s Stone”), which was published in 1617. It was essentially an instruction manual, a how-to book, if you wanted to learn alchemy and create the famed lapis philosophorum. You can flip through it here. I highly encourage you to, it’s quite cool! To note, there is also an actual alchemical book called Mysterium Magnum written by Jacob Bohme published in 1623. Jacob Bohme was a philosopher and Christian mystic who dabbled in alchemy and was a prolific writer besides. If you read his work, he sounds like an absolute lunatic. Or maybe he was high on mushrooms. In any case, it’s interesting stuff—well, interesting to me, anyway, I’m a nerd like that—and really pretty for use in my little work of fiction here.
(6) Anyone catch that reference? All of Ed’s books in shelf 42!
(7) I am using Highclere Castle as a reference for Firat Hall, because I can. (You might otherwise know it as Downton Abbey.)
(8) For the gardens, think Dyffryn House in the Vale of Glamorgan. (Again, because I can.) This is actually an artist’s rendition of the gardens, probably from the 1890s; the artist, Edith Helena Adie, lived from 1865-1947.
(9) “People are more than the worst thing they have ever done in their life.” – Bart Campolo is a secular humanist who used to be in the Christian ministry but left that world for secular humanism after three decades. I like his work; his writing is very well thought out. Check him out at bartcampolo.org!
(10) This song is called “Shall We Dance?” and is a bit of a classic, some of you who like jazz might know it. I am thinking here of the Stacey Kent version, which you can listen to here (Youtube) . Enjoy!
(11) Last but definitely not the least, Edward’s outfit! I envision his trousers, shirt, and vest to be like this:
And his beloved coat looks EXACTLY like this:
