I'll read your chapter soon. I'm at a friend's house. ^.^ Still sticking to the site like glue. xD That happens to me when I'm painting...

I can't wait! -hugs-

Hey there, I was having trouble uploading this to fanfiction.net. Which means you good folks get to see this chapter first. As always, constructive crit is more than welcome. Flames will be used to light my charcoal grill.
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And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, except for any OCs I've created for this story. I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the characters for awhile.
Author's note: This is still a flashback chapter to certain events which happened in the lives of Edward and Alphonse during their time in the "machine world" January 1925 and January 1926.

Chapter 28: In which Edward dances around, plus a reunion is proposed.

Cologne, October/November, 1925

Munich is the site of the most famous version of Oktoberfest, but it's not the only one for such celebrations are held all over Germany. Der Kinder Karnival had set up shop just outside of Cologne in early October, and the grounds were thronged with visitors from early afternoon till late evening.

Edward and Al were up early each morning to inspect the carnival rides, they greased the gears and checked for worn parts and loose bolts. After the carnival opened, the brothers were kept busy all day with the ferrying of supplies to the various games booths and cleaning up litter. The carnival went on till ten o'clock at night and they helped secure booths and clean up the grounds a second time.

It wasn't an easy life for the brothers, but neither was it particularly hard. Because the carnival moved around regularly, they could both keep their eyes and ears open for news of Hiskossen and stay one step ahead of the by now re-formed Thule Society.

These chores took up another hour or so and Alphonse would be exhausted by the time they were done. He would go to bed, but Edward would stay up for while longer and watch his fellow employees head for the nearest dance hall once their duties were done. Because Edward was a light sleeper, he would hear then return at dawn or just after. They would sway with weariness (or just drunkenness) and sing bawdy songs in off-key tenors or baritones. Edward never considered joining them until one morning in early October while he walked along the tracks of Der Kinder Koaster with a co-worker by the name of Shem.

Edward has just paused to tighten a bolt when Shem abruptly spoke to him,
"You are such a sobersides, Edward."

Shem had never spoken more than "Good morning", or "See you tomorrow" before, so Edward stopped what he was doing and he simply stared in astonishment. "Wha - what did you say?"

"You never come dancing with us at night. You just do your work and go to bed once it's done. And I think you would have fun, there are lots of lonely frauleins who want a handsome man to dance with all night long."

Edward's cheeks warmed at this statement because he'd never considered himself to be handsome. Actually he never considered how he looked at all, besides narsicissm was more like the speed of pretty boys like Mustang. Plus, he couldn't dance. Well, he could dance a little, but not well well enough to risk doing it in public. And he told Shem so, but the man just exploded with laughter. His laughing fit went on so long, Edward began to get a little annoyed. He wasn't handsome and he didn't dance well. These were immutable facts, what was so damn funny?

After morning maintenance was completed, Edward let Shem drag him over to the caravan of Lady Carlton, the carnival's bearded lady. That wasn't her real name of course, but most of the carnies used aliases and lied about their origins. Carnivals were analogous to the French Foreign Legion, except with women.

Lady Carlton could also quite cut a rug and she supplemented her wages by offering dance lessons to anyone who wanted to learn. But she admitted after an hour that Edward was a special case. It wasn't that he had two permanent left feet, he was agile and coordinated. Plus he learned the steps of even the most complicated dances quickly. It's just that Edward wasn't used to being touched - especially by the opposite sex.

When she gave him a broom to dance a quickstep with, he would whirl it around competently enough, but when she put one hand on his shoulder and the other hand in one of his, Edward tended to stiffen like a board. She finally exploded after a few minutes of practicing a stumbling tango, "Dammit, Bauer! Loosen up!"

She dropped the one hand which had been on his shoulder and dug the fingernails into an unsuspecting buttock. Edward jumped several inches and emitted a startled yelp before he came back to Earth, but at least the shock had loosened him up a bit. Her helper, Lydia, the tattooed lady re-started the tango record.

"All right Edward. One, two, three four. That's it, now stop and snap your head to the right, then left. Much better - bend your knees and let your hips sway - that's why you have joints, there! One, two, three, four, aannddd...dip! And back up again. Very good. I'll have to pinch your ass more often."

After Edward returned to the caravan he shared with Al and Noa, both chortled at the thought of him dancing. It was lunchtime and Noa ladled out steaming hot vegetable barley soup and handed out rye rolls before she asked , "But why go to all this trouble? You see how tired and hung over the other men are in the morning."

Edward rubbed his automail fingertip together. "Money, Noa. Money. The operators of the Konig Dance Hall will pay me to dance with the female patrons. And extra income will come in handy. Besides, I will only do this on Saturdays, Germany's religious laws forbid carnival operations on Sundays."

Noa had to admit the logic of Edward's statement. "Alphonse is outgrowing his clothes, and you need new boots."

"You will need a coat too, Noa," Alphonse pointed out between mouthfulls of soup. "Your shawls won't be enough when winter really sets in."

Noa ducked her head and her cheekbones darkened. The trio had been thrown together by circumstance, but they interacted almost like a family.
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After the final clean up duties that evening, the mostly male employees put on their dancing clothes and headed for the Konig. But Lady Carlton didn't consider Edward to be quite ready, and she insisted he practice for another hour each night for the next week. They would whirl around the small square of mostly flat ground next to her caravan and she taught him all the popular dances: the Charleston, the tango, the Black Bottom, quick step, samba, and the waltz.

He gradually became more accustomed to dancing closely with a woman, although Metta (Lady Carlton's real name) or Lydia were occasionally obliged to pinch his backside a few times more. Edward chose the following Saturday night as his debut, although he felt he could probably dance in his sleep, the Konig would be so crowded no one would notice if he made any mistakes.

Edward and Al returned to the caravan that evening to find Noa had already prepared a bath for him. Merely a galvanized tin tub half full of steaming hot water, which was set at one end of the caravan, yet it looked like nirvana to a dirty and sweaty Edward. He would have to bathe standing up, but Noa had rigged a curtain for privacy and somehow acquired a bar of good quality soap (Edward suspected she had traded one of her shawls for it) and set out a washcloth and towel.

When he emerged twenty minutes later, his skin pink and tingling, he found his evening clothes already laid out: a snowy white cotton tuxedo front shirt, white silk gloves, a black cotton waistcoat with the lapels faced with satin and satin covered buttons. Black cotton pants with narrow satin stripes down the outer seams, and a short black jacket, also of cotton with more of the satin covered buttons. Noa had taken his dark brown work shoes and cleaned off most of the mud, then shone them as best she could. They didn't really match, but Edward doubted anyone would notice.

What really surprised him is that all the clothes fit, and he asked Noa with a suspicious note in his voice, "How many of your shawls did you trade for this?"

Noa looked insulted and she raised her pretty chin high and defiantly shot back, "NONE! I earned the money to buy these by the honest sweat of my own brow. While you were out on maintenance in the morning, I would go into town and clean houses."

Edward blushed crimson with shame. "I'm sorry, Noa," he mumbled and hung his head.

Noa didn't reply right away, so he cautiously inched his gaze back upwards. To his even greater surprise, she was still in her defiant pose, but she'd traded her frown for a broad smile. He puffed out a breath in relief and Noa relaxed too.

"But I have something to confess," she said shyly. "I bought those clothes from an undertaker's overstock. They had been made to be the burial suit for a teenage boy."

Both brothers blinked and Alphonse looked down at his clothes - dark blue wool pants and a grey fleece sweatshirt. "Not yours Al, those came from a church jumble sale."

Al rolled his eyes in mock relief.

Noa had even prepared a little snack for Edward, half a roast beef sandwich (she gave the other half to Al), and some carrot sticks. These would give his body "fuel" for dancing and help soak up any alchohol he might drink. As a finishing touch, Noa flipped up the collar of his shirt and fastened a black silk tie around his neck. She tucked the end of the tie into his waistcoat and helped him slip on his jacket.

"Noa?" Edward said in a perplexed tone. "It doesn't button." The jacket edges didn't even meet, and Edward was even more confused by the non-functional buttons.

"It's okay, Edward," Noa explained. "It's not meant to button, just to frame the waistcoat - like so."

Edward pulled on and buttoned the white silk gloves before he replaced the elastic hair tie securing his ponytail with a length of black silk ribbon. He had washed his hair earlier that day and Noa had trimmed off any loose ends, so the heavy length of hair swung nicely.

"You look very handsome, brother..," Alphonse said between yawns, and Edward blushed. His flush deepened when Al finished. "...you'll have to fight the ladies off with a stick."
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Someone knocked on the door of their caravan and a voice called, "Edward! Are you ready?"

"Coming, Shem!" Edward yelled back as Noa brought his long brown winter coat and he shrugged into it. The chilly night wind would go right through his clothes, and Edward decided he didn't want any one to see his outfit until after they arrived at the dance hall.

With a feeling like he was on the way to his own funeral, Edward said 'good night' to Noa and Al before he opened the caravan door and joined a large group of men who were walking by on their way into Cologne.

The walk to town took all of ten minutes, but it was past midnight when they finally neared the dance hall. The Konig was lit up bright as day and music could be heard blaring from it a mile away. At the front entrance, people could be seen still streaming into the building at this late hour. Shem whispered into Edward's ear, "The party is just getting started, and it will go on till dawn," before he took Edward's left arm and tugged lightly on it. "We're employees, so we have to use the back door."

After they passed through a set of double doors at the back of the dance hall, the group had entered a large vestibule. It was blessedly warm inside, and dim, thanks to the soft light from several electric lamps bolted to the walls.

A door to their left was marked Ladies's Dressing Room, and it's opposite said Gentlemens's Dressing Room. Another set of double doors directly ahead led to a wide stairway. Edward could see stairs through the glass panes in the doors, he assumed they led to the dance floor above. He could hear muffled music filtered through the floor, and a sort of soft thunder marked the thuds of hundreds, maybe thousands of pairs of dancing feet.

The rest of the wall space in the vestibule was given over to wooden benches, and nearly every available inch was occupied by chattering women dressed to the nines. "Hen party," mumbled Shem. Then he suddenly barked, "Look sharp, everyone, here comes Herr Torpedo!" Edward looked up in confusion, but Shem put a finger to his lips.

"Ach, same gang of idiots tonight?" grumbled a voice which sounded as if it's owner gargled gravel.

"Yes, sir, Herr Schwartz, and one new fellow," answered Shem as he put his hands on Edward's shoulders and propelled him forwards.

Edward found himself face to face with a bald man who was roughly the same size and shape as Alex Armstrong, but not quite as friendly-looking. His bullet-shaped head shone under the lights, and icy blue eyes glittered ominously beneath bushy black eyebrows. The man was clean shaven, and didn't appear to have any lips. Perhaps he had been careless with the razor and shaved them off. What he did have were very large, very white, and very square-looking teeth, and he showed them when he said, "Take your coat off, boy, and let's see what you look like."

He gave a low whistle and grinned in a way Edward did not like when he saw the suit. "You look like a girl," Schwartz grumbled before he reached forward with one massive hand and grabbed Edward by the crotch.

He ignored Edward's yelp of surprise and continued, "But you've got the right equipment, so the ladies will just love you, if you know what I mean."

Edward had gone rigid with shock, so no, he didn't know what Schwartz meant, but he wished he could drop through the floor and tunnel his way back to the caravan. Schwartz shoved a clipboard with a pencil tied to it into Edward's hands, "Fill this out, but skip whatever you don't want to answer. Then you'll be issued an employee badge and a dance card. It's up to you to accurately fill out how many partners you dance with, because that determines how much you'll be paid. If the partner wants special services, the price will be up to you to negotiate. The Konig Dance Hall is a high-class joint and we don't mess around with sordid things like that, got it?"

Edward just nodded numbly and he allowed Shem to lead him into the Gentlemens's Dressing Room where he found a chair and sat down to fill out the form. He wrote down his name, age, height and hair color, but he left everything else blank, including eye color, occupation, date and place of birth and current residence. It was very hard to concentrate because the dressing room was an echoing, high-ceiled area which exploded with noise and activity.

There was a babble of voices in many languages, mostly German, but Edward recognized French, Spanish, Italian, Swiss, and even a couple speaking Russian. Men stood in front of lockers and changed into fancier clothes (Edward later discovered most of the carnies kept their evening clothes in lockers here and paid a small fee to have them washed). Men sat at the dressing tables and applied pomade to their hair and dabbed on cologne. He saw some even apply makeup. Further back in the dressing room were showers and some men walked by clad only in damp towels, or even naked.

Shem had taken his coat to hang it up someplace, so Edward was alone when he noticed a very strange creature approaching him. Edward supposed he was male, but looks could be deceiving. He was an inch or so shorter than Edward and handsomely dressed in a purple shirt with a ruffled front and enormous cuffs. Over that was buttoned a tight purple jacket with lapels faced in red velvet, and slim purple pants with thin red velvet stripes down the outer seams. He wore several rings with red or purple stones on long slim fingers and purple shoes tied with oxblood red laces.

His hair was long and black and tied back with a purple satin ribbon in a braided plait like Edward used to wear. But the most striking aspect of this man was his face. His eyebrows had been tweezed into non-existance and replaced with arched, penciled-in versions. The face had been heavily powdered with a very light shade and a subdued red blush had been applied to accentuate his high cheekbones. As a topper, his mouth had been lipsticked in a garish red cupid's bow. Edward was used to seeing men wearing earings, but this man had the most enormous silver hoops in his lobes, plus he smelled of some exotic floral perfume.

He came to a stop a few steps from Edward and he didn't as much stand there as posed, a hand on his right hip and left foot pointed stright forward. He looked cooly at everyone from hooded dark-brown eyes and announced in a bored sounding drawl, "I am Pferd - because I am hung like one," he chuckled mirthlessly at his own joke. "Which one of you is the new boy?"

Pferd need not have asked because he had been staring straight at Edward for nearly the entire time. He took three mannered steps in Edward's direction and snatched the clipboard from his hands.

"Hmmm," he scratched his head with a long, purple-painted fingernail. "Edward Bauer? Obviously fake. 21? You're lying, but that's all right as long as you aren't WAY underage. 5' 6"? Well, you're not far off. Blonde? Hmph, that is the only truth in here."

Edward looked nervously at Pferd, was he going to be dismissed? But Pferd suddenly smiled, a full generous smile which reached his linered and mascaraed eyes. "No matter, I don't know anyone who uses his real name nowadays."

He paused and handed Edward a tan pasteboard card folded in half, and a small pencil. "This is your dance card, which is your responsibility to fill out. Only the first name of your partner is necessary, but be warned. You are a pretty boy, and men will want to dance with you too."

The surprise must have been evident on Edward's face because Pferd leaned forward and patted his shoulder. "Poor boy, you grew up sheltered in the country, didn't you? No wonder you are shocked, but you can make more money if you are willing to dance with men as well."

Edward swallowed hard, but he nodded and stammered, "Oh, Oh-kay."

"Very good, I like your spirit already. You'll no longer be bothered by it in a few days. And then you might want to consider going further and making yourself available for special services," Pferd wiggled his pencil eyebrows. "And that is where you will make some serious money."

"Umm...I'll think about it," Edward said in a kind of half-groan. He wondered if everyone here was crazy, or if it was just Pferd and Schwartz.

"Ach, yes, I almost forgot, where is my mind?" Pfred exclaimed as he dug into a jacket pocket. "This is your employee badge."

He reached up and pinned a small square object to the left lapel of Edward's jacket as he advised. "Wear it at all times when you are at the Konig."

Edward looked down at the square of metal and read '158' upside-down, then he started when Pferd clapped his hands and raised his voice above the infernal noise of the dressing room, "All right, everyone, it's time to dance!"


While Pferd led the way up the three flights of stairs to the dance floor above, he kept one arm around Edward's shoulder and gossiped chattily about some of the more infamous patrons of the Konig. It was all very amusing, but most of the one-sided conversation went over Edward's head. He was nervous and his stomach was tied into knots. What have I gotten myself into? he wondered in a mild panic.

"You know," Pferd chirruped. "You look very handsome in that suit, but I suggest you do some clothes shopping after you get paid, because grave clothes aren't really your style."

"How did you know?" Edward sputtered in surprise as two red spots appeared on his cheeks.

Pferd tapped one fingernail on Edward's left cheek. "My father is one of the leading undertakers in Cologne and he wanted me to carry on the family business - tradition and all that - you know. But it's so morbid! I wanted to live and let live, not live and let bury! So I lit out for Berlin the minute hostilities ceased. I only come back to stage manage the Oktoberfest festivities at the Konig, then it's right back to Berlin for me. Anyways, I'd recognize his stock anywhere, that burial suit is one of his top sellers. It's been seen on all the best stiffs."

Pferd, Edward and the rest of the group had arrived at the the top of the final flight of stairs just as he said that. Before the dancers was a pair of wooden doors with frosted glass inserts. A tremendous din of music and loud voices could be heard just beyond them. Pferd released Edward's shoulders and walked alone to the doors before he pushed down on the handles and flung them open wide with a theatrical gesture. He spun around to face Edward and the rest before he threw his hands into the air and cried "Forward! Your partners await!"

Edward tried to hang back, the din on the main dance floor was almost unbearably loud, but he was pushed forward by the crush of bodies. He looked back once when someone squeezed his shoulders. It was Shem who smiled encouragingly, "Don't be scared Ed, you'll do fine."

Edward wanted to tell him he was just nervous, but Shem was immediately claimed by a stout lady who wore what appeared to be a tent with large cabbage roses printed on it, and they whirled away into the tornadoing mass of dancers. Edward stood alone and felt like a target had been painted on his back. Anyone who wasn't dancing appeared to be staring at him and he felt very foolish dressed in a burial suit.

Then a man with a nasty puckered scar down the side of his face, and kitted out in full Prussian military unform, complete with medals walked briskly up to Edward, clicked his heels and bowed stiffly. He offered his white gloved left hand to Edward, and the blond hesitated, then jumped when Pferd spoke into his ear. "Edward, this is the Baron von Rentinburg. She's rather eccentric, but completely harmless. Baron, this is Edward, he's a Konig virgin, so be gentle with him."

Edward'd right hand was shaking when he put it into the Baron's still outstretched hand, and allowed himself to be led onto the dance floor.
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After three-quarters of an hour, Edward's shirt was plastered to his body with sweat, his tie was wilting, and his feet were aching inside his work shoes. The Baron had hogged Edward for the first five dances - a Black Bottom, two quicksteps, a tango, and finally a waltz. Edward was now sprawled out of breath upon a chair alongside one wall where he waited for the Baron to come back with a promised glass of punch.

Edward puffed out another breath and ran his right hand through his bangs in an attempt to pull them out of his eyes. The glove came back so sodden, the silk clung to the metal hand underneath and Edward looked at it in dismay.

"Edward? What is that?" came a soft and well modulated voice. Despite his fierce appearance, the Baron von Rentinburg had a cultured way of speaking.

Edward started guiltily and tired to hide his hand underneath the chair. Then he reached out with his left hand to take the glass of ruby-red punch. Edward said an abstracted 'thank you' and poured the punch into his mouth.

The punch was delicious, cold and crisp. Edward was very thirsty and he had drained half the glass in three large swallows before he felt a peculiar warmth in his stomach. Only then did he realize the punch was spiked. The Baron sat down on Edward's right side and sipped his own glass of punch. Then he locked eyes with Edward and new steel in his voice demanded, "Show me your hand."

Before Edward could refuse, or even react, the Baron had reached under the chair and yanked the younger man's hand out from it's hiding place. He flexed the wrist back and forth before he mused, "Hmm...such beautiful workmanship. Why do you hide a piece of art like that?"

"Because I don't want people to stare, and pity me." Edward mumbled from between grit teeth and snatched his hand back. It occured to him just then if Winry had been there, she would have Edward stripped to his underwear at the slightest hint of interest in his automail. Just as she had done back in Rush Valley.

The Baron didn't seem perturbed by Edward's attitude. He took another sip of his punch and ordered, "Take the glove off, Edward."

Edward didn't want to. He felt angry and resentful when his hand was forced. But people were starting to gather around the pair and they were staring at him anyways. He grumbled under his breath, and heaved a huge, melodramatic sigh before he peeled the wet silk back. A murmur ran through the crowd, a few people gasped, but Edward also heard words of admiration mixed among them.

The Baron pulled a snowy white linen handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed moisture off the metal hand, a very intimate gesture which caused a flush to spread from Edward's cheeks to his hairline. He tried to hide his discomfort by taking a large swig from his glass, which caused him to cough...

A rather fat man dressed in a completely white ensemble - right down to his shoelaces - shoved some people of his way and barked at the Baron, "I want to dance with him next!" Edward shot him a dismayed look, the man was already the worse for drink, his shirt front was stained with spilled punch, like spots of blood. His mussed hair looked like some sort of decayed animal perched upon his head, and his face was so decorated with "gin blossoms" he looked ready to die of a stroke right there.

Edward sighed and hung his head when the Baron said, "I have enjoyed Edward's company for five dances. I have no objection."

The fat man grinned and held out his right hand to Edward, who squeaked "Name?"

"It's Rufus, m'boy, Rufus McCord, and we're going to be great friends. I hear a samba starting, let's dance!"

Rusus seized Edward's right hand and yanked him right out of his chair. His almost empty glass of punch went flying, but he didn't hear a crash. He hoped it hadn't hit anyone.

In a samba, the partners dance closely, yet don't always touch. But they were in the middle of a crush of dancers, hemmed in at every side, so Edward was pushed close against Rufus. The air Edward was trying to breathe was heavy with the scents of sweat, tobacco smoke, cologne, perfume, and a strange scent Edward couldn't identify.

Rufus took advantage of the enforced closeness by touching Edward everywhere, stroking his hair, rumpling his clothes, or pinching his behind. Every so often, he would press his groin against Edward and the latter had become uncomfortably aware Rufus was leering at him in a manner which made Edward's skin crawl. He wasn't much taller than Edward, but Rufus was at least twice as wide, plus both his breath and his body reeked. Edward desperately wanted to get away from him, but he had to finish the dance.

After what seemed an eternity, the last notes of the samba faded away, and in the short interval between that number and the next, Rufus licked his red lips and purred, "Would you like to go someplace private and negotiate for special services?"

His heartbeat thudded in his ears, and Edward wondered how discreetly he could manage to stick a finger down his throat and vomit on McCord when he was saved by an unknown man who tapped Rufus on the shoulder and asked, "May I cut in?"

"NO!" Rufus snarled like a dog guarding a juicy bone, and when a shoving match began to break out between him and the stranger, Edward slowly began to edge away.

"Oh, goody, you are mine now," a tenor voice breathed in his ear, and Edward spun about to find himself almost nose to nose with a svelte man about the same height as himself. He took Edward's right hand and curled the other arm about his waist. "And they're playing a tango too!"

His name was Winston and he was visiting from England. He was esquisitely dressed in a dark blue tail coat over a light blue tuxedo front shirt, and dark blue pants. His black hair was cropped very short and slicked back with oil and his brown eyes were fringed with lashes which seemed too long to be masculine. Underneath the general fug created by the other dancers, Edward's nose detected the faint odor of a woodsy cologne.

Like the Baron, Winston was an excellent dancer. Something about the man did bother Edward, but Winston didn't try to paw Edward or look at him like he was a piece of raw meat. Maybe it was the influence of the spiked punch, but
for the first time that evening, Edward began to relax. He couldn't quite figure Winston out, but he decided to ignore the strangeness and enjoy the experience.

After the tango, the music swung into the popular American dance called the Charleston, which was Edward's favorite. He must have smiled because Winston spoke for the second time since he'd introduced himself. "Are you smiling because you like the dance, or because I rescued you from Rufus?"

"BOTH!" yelled back Edward who was slightly out of breath.

"Very good!" trilled a French-accented voice behind him. "We don't like Rufus either!" Edward turned to see another small and slim young man who was dressed like Winston, but in a deep lavender suit.

"Edward," Winston made the introductions. "This is Georges, from Antwerp. Georges, this is Edward."

A third young man, dressed in a canary yellow tailcoat and pants brushed a long thin hand over Edward's left shoulder. "Rufus is an awful old rapist and if you'd stayed with him, he woud have had your trousers down to your ankles and you bent over a table before you could say 'Sodom and Gomorrah'."

Mr. Canary Yellow wiggled his arched eyebrows. "I am quite serious, Edward. Take it from someone who barely escaped Mr. McCord's tender embrace with his virginity intact."

Edward nodded in an abstracted way because he was too busy trying to stay in step with the music, which seemed to have sped up. He was about to drop from sheer exhaustion when the music suddenly stopped. Edward was caught off balance and he could feel himself falling. Then the arms of the man dressed in yellow encircled his waist and hauled him back upright. "Thank you," he gasped.

"No problem, by the way, my name is Louis. Pleased to meet you, Edward, you dance quite well." Edward didn't have the air to reply, so he just nodded. Louis looked back over his shoulder and swore, "Oh, pooh! Here he comes!"

Both he and Georges linked arms with Edward, and dragged him off the dance floor. Winston was close behind and he chatted amiably in Edward's ear. "We are going to have a little refreshment first Edward, then we will introduce you to some bright young things. I think you will have a lot of fun with them."

When Winston gave him another glass of punch, Edward remembered it was spiked and he sipped it slowly. The 'bright young things' Winston had mentioned were more androgynous men like themselves, plus a few actual women. He was becoming quite drunk from the punch and the faces were a blur, but his new found friends formed a tight cordon around him. He occasionally heard Rufus sputtering in anger, but he didn't have to dance with him again. In any case, Edward's dance card filled up with so many names, he was obliged to scribble them down in any clear space he could find.

Because there were no windows on the main dance floor, Edward didn't know dawn had come until the final dance - a waltz - ended and the musicians finally put down their instruments. The great main entrance doors of the Konig were propped open and chilly air came whispering in tendrils into the room. The party was breaking up.

Edward couldn't stand the smell of himself, he reeked of sweat and smoke, plus perfume and cologne which had rubbed off from his dance partners. Every muscle ached, his eyes burned and he suspected his feet were blistered. Plus, he had gotten quite drunk and was unable to walk in a straight line. How am I going to get home? he thought in a mild panic.

He was leaning against a wall near the top of the back staircase when someone staggered into him with enough force to nearly send him flying down the steps. That someone turned out to be Shem and he threw an arm about Edward's shoulders before he emittted a blast of liquor scented breath in his face.

"EDWARD!" Shem slurred in an alchoholic drawl. "How did it feel to finally have some fun? Did you offer the ladies any special services?

Edward gave Shem a narrow-eyed look back. Since when had Shem acquired a twin brother? "Quit swaying like that, Shem. You're making me queasy!" he growled.

"I'm not swaying," Shem retorted. "You're the one who is moving!"

Edward's head was pounding, and his mouth was dry. He decided he most definately did not like being drunk. "Oh, shut up!" he snapped. "And help me down these stairs!"

They somehow made it to the bottom without breaking their necks and found Herr Schwartz in the vestibule. He looked fresh as a daisy as he stood between two large wooden boxes into which the other dancers were tossing their dance cards. He bared his massive teeth at Edward when he shuffled by, "Whatsamatter boy? Can't hold your liquor, eh?" Schwartz slapped Edward on the back with enough force to propel him halfway across the room, and laughed when the younger man stumbled and fell to his knees.

"Leave him be, Schwartz," Pferd grumbled as he helped Edward back to his feet. "It was his debut and he did wonderfully. Edward's sozzled brain was trying to figure out where the hell Pferd had come from when the other man shouted, "Schwartz! Stop him!"

The speed at which Schwartz moved was surprising for such a big man and he contained a very red-faced Rufus McCord with one massive paw. "Let me go!" McCord squealed with anger. "He's mine!" To Edward he leered in a raspy voice, "Come here, pretty boy! I have some special dance steps to show you!"

For the first time, Pferd's face showed an expression other than mild ennui. "Patrons are not allowed in employee areas, Mr. McCord," he said in a flat, hostile tone unlike his usual drawl. "Please show him out, gentlemen."

Two bouncers almost as large as Schwartz grabbed Rufus's arms and dragged him, yelling and kicking, back up the steps. Pferd sighed and hung his head. When he finally looked up, his face had been rearranged back into it's usual mask. "You know what he meant by special dance steps, Edward?"

"I can guess, Pferd," Edward replied in a dry tone. "A fellow told me McCord was an 'awful old rapist', but I didn't understand quite what he meant until he told me why, and how McCord had nearly raped him."

Pferd patted his shoulder. "Fortunately, you do have the right to refuse any offer to dance. Plus, you have made a lot of friends and admirers tonight. The Baron thinks quite highly of you," Pferd then wrinkled his nose. "Now go and take a shower, you stink to high heaven."
_____________________________________________________________________________

The other carnies helped Edward get home and he had a vague recollection of the carnival strongman carrying him just before he passed out. Many hours later, Edward came to on his bed inside the caravan, and he could feel someone tugging on his shoes. He slowly levered himself up on to his elbows to see Noa rubbing something fragrant into his aching and blistered feet. She looked up and smiled at him before she ordered, "Go back to sleep."
_____________________________________________________________________________

Near Oxford, January, 1926

Edward awoke, coughing and sputtering to an awful smell of ammonia in his nostrils. He turned his head back and forth in an effort to escape it and a voice above him murmured, "Wake up, Mr. Smith-Jones, wake up!"

Someone lightly slapped his face and Edward blinked his eyes several times. The long, austere face of Mr. Hudson gradually came into focus.

"Mr. Hudson? What am I doing here?" Edward asked quietly, here being a lumpy sofa in Mr. Hudson's study.

"You fainted, Mr. Smith-Jones, fainted dead away. Right in the servant's dining hall. Gave Cook quite a turn, you did. She thought you'd dropped dead, just like Old Tad, the head gardener in '03. He told her the porridge smelled grand and then he simply plopped face-first into it. What a pother that was. Mind you, old Tad was almost as ancient as Methuselah..."

Edward said nothing. Mr. Hudson enjoyed meandering off in odd, unrelated tales like this, and he would consider any interruption to be most rude. So Edward held his tongue and waited patiently for the inevitable questions Mr. Hudson would get around to asking. Eventually.

"Lincoln says you have been reading a letter when you suddenly went very pale and swooned. I do hope you didn't get your secret admirer into trouble."

"N-no, Mr. Hudson. Nothing like that," Edward put one hand behind his head and he blushed. "Some anonymous fellow in the village thinks I've replaced him in the affections of his sweetheart and he threatened to thump me."

It was a good lie, but Mr. Hudson saw through it right away.

"A chap who uses lavender toilet water and writes on pretty pastel stationery?" He had Edward there. But thank the fates for impetuous little brothers. The door to the study suddenly burst open and Alphonse rushed in.

"Brother! Lincoln told me what happened! Are you all right?!"

"Al, I'm fine," Edward assured him with a sigh. "It's O.K., but you came in without knocking. So please apologize to Mr. Hudson."

Al was impatiently jigging in place, but he had the sense to duck his head in the head butler's general direction and mutter, "Sorry, Mr. Hudson."

"We shall talk later, Mr. Smith-Jones," Mr.Hudson pulled a nickel-plated hunter out of his waistcoat pocket and popped the lid open. "In the meantime, go and eat a proper breakfast before you see the Viscount. You don't want to faint in front of him."

"Yes, sir, sorry, sir." Edward carefully levered himself off the sofa and walked back to the servant's dining hall with Alphonse. He touched the right pocket of his jacket and paper crackled. After he'd read through the few words of the letter, Edward had folded it and stuck it in there before he'd stood up. His intention had been to go outside and first vomit up the two pieces of toast spread with orange marmalade, and the cup of tea he'd already had. But he must have stood up too quickly because the room suddenly swayed and gone all fuzzy before everything went black...

Edward's second intention, to show the letter to Alphonse had been dashed with Lincoln, Simpkins and some other servants surrounded them just inside the door of the dining hall. Edward took a a great deal of ribbing about his falling back in a swoon, and one of the under butlers had made a great show of fanning him with a cloth napkin until Cook stalked in to restore order just by clearing her throat.

She'd made eggs on toast, with a piece of broiled beefsteak for Edward, plus a large foamy glass of milk to wash it all down with. He didn't know how he was going to eat all of it because he'd largely lost his appetite. But under Cook's basilisk gaze, he sat down and manfully tucked into the meal. The steak and eggs were perfectly cooked, the toast - with the butter soaked into it - was delicious, and he even took a sip of the milk.

"Fresh from the cow, that milk is!" she declared. Edward smiled at her and said it tasted great, but inside he just wanted to gag. Once Cook had stopped hovering and gone back to her stoves, Edward muttered, "Al, Lincoln. Help me eat all this!"

The boys grabbed forks and dug in. Al guzzled most of the milk and Lincoln took care of the rest. "Wipe your mouth, Al," Edward hissed. "No! Not with your sleeve!"

Lincoln groaned, and Alphonse chuckled as the dining hall clock struck the three quarter hour, the time was nearly eight o'clock. The horse-drawn bus which took the estate children to school in the village of Burnlae Halt would be arriving soon. The brothers and Lincoln got to the back driveway with a few minutes to spare, and Edward got a little privacy to show Alphonse the letter.

"Brother! What do we do!?"

"Don't let yourself be isolated, Al. Stay with the other kids, but if there is trouble, run like hell and find someplace to hide. Don't come out unless you see some people you know you can trust. I'll meet you at four o'clock at the meeting place we agreed upon."

Al nodded to show he understood before he turned to board the bus which had just pulled up. Lincoln followed him in and they sat down together. The boys were only three years apart and had become firm friends in just a few hours after the brothers had arrived at Burnlae Hall. Edward waved at the bus as the horses pulled it down the driveway, "Have a good day at school, Al! Don't tease the girls too much, okay?"

He continued to wave until the bus rounded a corner and was out of sight before he returned to the house. Back inside the kitchens, he warmed his gloved hands at a pot-bellied stove for a few minutes before he walked up the backstairs to the second-floor hallway. Edward halted at an age-spotted mirror hung on a wall next to the green baize door and checked his reflection for any loose hairs in his ponytail, or wrinkles in his clothing.

No one else was about, so Edward again slipped the letter out of his pocket and unfolded it. It was only one line on pale yellow paper, but that line had destroyed his whole world:

We will fetch you just after dusk. Be ready. - M.

Edward crumpled the paper in his right hand, as if he could crush the life out of Mathun by long distance, and rubbed his face with the other. He suddenly felt very tired and wished he could go back to bed and sleep the next twelve hours away. Edward flinched when the loud chime of the kitchen clock stuck the quarter hour, 8:15 AM. It was time to present himself at the door of the Viscount's study.

Edward took three deep cleansing breaths to steady himself before he pushed open the green baize doors. In time with his heartbeat, the same five words thrummed in his mind.


What are we gonna do?

Author's note: In England, the first floor of a house is called "the ground floor". Then comes the first floor, and so on. Plus, in the big country houses, the green baize door(s) seperated the upstairs world of the master from the downstairs world of the servant.

You're so cruel! xD He's so pretty, he didn't even dance with one lady that night. Such a shame...

As for the last section, I wonder what's to become of them now.

Ed never danced with any ladies? Look closer...

I just realized I'd made a serious continuity error in chapter 27. How embarassing. It's fixed now.

I didn't note any, but I have been a bit drained and maybe didn't pay as much attention. I'm sorry. ._.;

Still, he went through hell! xD

It had to do with the burlap sacks tossed over Ed and Al's heads before they were forced into the trunk of that car. I agonized over it for awhile and finally just added a line about them pulling the sacks off once they got their hands free. That way, Ed could see the tears sticking to Al's (long, long) eyelashes.

In chapter twenty-seven? Ah...I'll go look it over.

And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, just the OCs I've created for this story. I don't even live there (well, if I did, life would be really - interesting), I just like to play around in it's world for awhile and annoy the characters.
Warning: violence, false imprisonment, purple prose, and loads of attitude.
Beta: Bishie huntin' Shinigami

Chapter Twenty-nine- In which Alphonse feels the ties that bind, and Edward speaks like a child.

The smell of damp earth was the first thing Alphonse was aware of when he regained consciousness. He could hear faint noises nearby, so he kept his eyes closed and used his other senses to assess the situation. His hands were pulled behind his back, something which felt cold and hard encircled his wrists. His ankles felt like they were bound in a similar manner. He tested the theory by trying to move his legs independently and they did so - to a point.

Then Alphonse sent his fingers exploring and they wriggled about to feel hard-packed earth behind his back, and slightly looser ground underneath his body. He concluded his wrists and ankles were shackled, plus his prison was walled and floored with earth. Perhaps he was underground, that would explain the smell.

Alphonse kept his eyes closed and his breathing even as he listened hard. Not far away, he could hear two men speaking in low, urgent on his left. To his right, a woman sobbed quietly and he had to fight back the urge to try to comfort her. Just like Edward, he hated to hear women cry. His senses of touch, smell, and hearing had learned all they could, now it was the turn of his sense of sight. Alphonse opened his eyes, and saw only black.

I'm blind!

A bubble of panic formed and rose in his throat, and Alphonse forced it down by taking three deep breaths. Now he realized he could see glimpses of light through whatever was covering his eyes. He tested this new theory by rubbing his face on his shoulder. He felt rough cloth, perhaps burlap, and heard it shursh against his shirt. Someone had put a bag over his head.

Alphonse moved his head back and forth, and tried to capture the sounds all around him. He was surrounded by people. Were they prisoners too? Or his captors?

"Hello?" he asked tentatively, half fearing the reply.

"Hello yourself, young man." someone said on his immediate right.

The conversation to his left broke off and a voice hissed, "Keep your voice down, or they'll hear you!"

"Sorry," both Alphonse and the unknown voice to his right replied contritely. Barely daring to breathe, Al could hear his pulse pounding in his ears. When a few minutes passed without anything happening, Al decided this was a good time to make introductions. If "they" didn't like it, "they" could just lump it. He turned his face to the right and said,

"My name is Alphonse Elric, I'm very pleased to meet you."

"Charmed," came the reply. "I am Phillipius Eldritch."

The floodgates opened and one after the other, all of Alphonse's fellow captives spoke up.

"I am Henrietta Spuith," came the voice of the woman who had been sobbing, in a voice thick with tears.

"August Schwahn," said the man who had shushed Alphonse and Philllipius.

"And I am Ian Jones," said his companion. "Charmed as well."

Whispered voices came from all over the chamber.

"James Dragonera."

"Michelle Kehrmeyer."

"Louis Derleth."

"Janine Dahl."

"Mercy Spenser."


Suddenly, heavy footsteps were heard approaching and everyone fell silent. The footsteps - Alphonse's sharp ears detected four pairs - halted very close by. He heard keys rattle in two locks, and then a door swung open on creaking hinges. Two pairs of footsteps came into the room and stopped again. Alphonse could hear them breathing, but neither of them spoke. They are testing us. he guessed. The extended silence was stretching his nerves to the breaking point and Henrietta finally broke it when she cried out, "Who are you people? What do you want with us? I have young children who need me! In the name of all that's holy, let us go!"

Alphonse heard a voice mutter and one pair of footsteps stomped over to his right. Then chains rattled and he heard Henrietta cry out in pain. This wail was followed by several sharp sounds of flesh upon flesh. Each sound was immediately followed by another cry from Henrietta. She was being slapped, and very hard too. The sounds continued for another thirty seconds, and just when Alphonse was about to shout, they stopped.

Henrietta was crying very loudly now, in great gulping sobs which wrenched at Alphonse's mind. Also like Brother, he hated to see (or hear) the strong abusing the weak. What kind of monster beat a shackled woman? He wanted to scream and yell and rip off his own shackles before he gave that creep a dose of his own medicine. Something knocked against his right foot in a gentle, yet insistent rhythm. Something about it made Alphonse guess it was a booted foot.

"Calm yourself," Phillipius whispered quietly and Alphonse made an effort to be still. Careful not to make a sound, he unclenched his hands and lowered his right index finger to the floor. It was difficult because he was blindfolded, but Alphonse drew a basic alchemy array in the dirt.

He took three slow breaths to calm himself, then planned his course of action. His first transmutation would be to melt the middle of the floor upwards and trap the two unknown visitors, then he would melt his shackles. Just a few more seconds...

But Alphonse didn't get those few seconds. The same man muttered under his breath, feet moved, and a boot planted itself squarely in Alphonse's solar plexus. The air rushed out of his lungs with a loud "oof!" and white sparks danced before his eyes.

Alphonse wheezed and gasped and it seemed to take forever before the air rushed back. He sucked it in gratefully as tears of pain trickled down his cheeks. His fellow captives, plus the two men in the center of the room listened quietly. His breathing was almost back to normal when a loud, ringing voice broke the silence.

"Listen up, you alchemists! You are all blasphemers against God's holy word! As such, your lives are forfeit unless you repent of your evil ways! God said 'Do not suffer a witch, nor a warlock to live;!" Alchemy is akin to witchcraft, so you are also sinners!"

"You're making that up, aren't you?" Ian broke in with a dry chuckle.

"SILENCE!!"

Feet rushed to Alphonse's left, and he heard a thud, like a punch. It was followed by a grunt of pain.

The man with the loud voice continued with his speech. "You are forbidden to speak unless first spoken to and given permission! Only total obedience will be tolerated! If you are willfull, you will be punished!"

Alphonse heard another man several places away growl, "Bloody Christians!", and then shout "OW!" as he was struck. Again, it sounded like a punch with a closed fist. His breath caught in his throat as footsteps approached him. Expecting another kick in the stomach, he cringed back and made a fearful noise in the back of this throat.

"Good," said the unknown voice, which was now pitched more softly. "You have learned the first lesson, Alphonse Elric. And you may yet be spared the cleansing flames of God's love." The man gave the boy's head an affectionate pat and ruffled his hair. The motions made Alphonse shiver and his skin crawl. He wished for his brother, he wished he had let Edward tell Bond everything, he wished to be back in his own bed in Risembool. Brother, please come soon.We need you.

It didn't take Alphonse long to figure out how their captors planned to break them down. He and the other prisoners were deprived of the sense of sight, of freedom, of the knowledge of the passage of time. They were slapped or punched if they dared to speak. Food and water was denied. Two people were with them in the cell at all times. One walked up and down the center aisle and read from the Christian's Holy Book in a monotone voice. Meanwhile, his companion struck any of the prisoners who dared to fall asleep. Alphonse himself had been rudely awakened by a stick smacking him on one shoulder or another a few times.

But he couldn't help it. The droning voice of the reading man was like an aural sedative. He reminded Alphonse of some of his college professors whose boring lectures he'd fallen asleep in the middle of. Only to wake up when shaken by another student bumping his desk while leaving after the lecture was over.

The stinging pain in his shoulder added to a catalog of miseries: he was hungry and thirsty, his arms and legs ached, his back had begun to cramp up, and he had to pee. Alphonse had held it in for as long as he could, he hadn't wet himself since he was very young and he wasn't going to relive the humiliation. His aching bladder finally drove him to speak up, "Excuse me?"

Footsteps stomped up to him and he was twice slapped hard across the face. His lower lip puffed, and then split, the sting added to his problems. But the man who had been reading suddenly called out, "STOP!"

The man who had slapped Alphonse growled in annoyance, but the other said, "He is young, brother, show him a little kindness."

"Hmph!" was the scornful reply. "He should suffer like the rest!"

But a set of keys rattled, and then scraped in a lock at his feet. Alphonse heard a click!, and suddenly, his ankles were free. He was roughly bent forwards and a key slid into the lock of his wrist shackles. He rubbed his wrists and hissed between his teeth with pain as returning circulation made his hands throb. A pair of roughened hands hauled him quickly to his feet and a voice demanded, "Open the door!"

Then it whispered in Alphonse's ear. "Keep that bag on, or it will be worse for you."

The door opened on squeaky hinges and he was hauled on stumbling, half-numbed feet out into what he believed to be a hallway.

"Glory be to God!" cried a female voice. "Has one of the blasphemers repented already?!"

Alphonse didn't hear a reply so he assumed the man holding him had shaken his head.

"I will pray for you, Alphonse Elric!" the woman called from behind him, which made Al wonder how complete strangers knew his name.

The hall was better lit than the cell he'd been confined in, and full of murmuring people who walked along the walls. They passed other doorways which reading voices could be heard coming from. Alphonse thought pi]how many people did they kidnap?[/i]

The man who escorted Alphonse answered his unspoken question. "This place is a training center, where we prepare God's Holy Warriors to go out and do battle for souls. Lately, we have become more proactive by bringing the Devil's disciples here to show them the error of their ways."

"You mean kidnapping and brainwashing, don't you?" Alphonse's tone was accusatory. "You may be able to force a few people in the short term, but it won't work on all people. So it's not a good long term solution."

The man chuckled, in a scary sort of way, "You have spirit, boy. Turning your soul onto the path of righteousness will be quite a challenge. But, it's a challenge wer are up to. Although you are right, many souls will be lost to the flames of Hell. Still, we will save as many as we can."

He halted abruptly, opened a creaking wooden door, and pushed Alphonse forward. "Here is the lavatory, the toilet is three paces directly ahead of you."

Alphonse felt with his feet as he shuffled cautiously forward. Although the smell made him want to gag, he undid the waistband button and unzipped his pants. The splashing sounds told Alphonse the "toilet" was just a hole in the ground, and it wasn't deep enough. Once he had finished, the man entered the room and gave Alphonse something which felt like wax paper to wipe himself with. He also gave Al time to re-do his pants before he hauled him back into the hall.

A breeze was coming from somewhere, and it was bringing fresh air in to war with the musty earth smell. After the pestilent stench of the lavatory, Alphonse gulped several lungfulls in relief, and his head cleared.

Light shone tantalizingly through the gaps of the burlap bag and the urge to remove it was close to overwhelming. Despite the order he had been given, his right hand began to edge up towards the fabric. All he wanted was a little peek before he went mad...

A hand suddenly grabbed his hair and yanked his head back so hard tears sprang to Al's eyes. He gasped as he fell backwards, jarring himself on the hard-packed earthen floor of the hall. A heavy weight fell upon his midsection, the man was sitting on him.

"What" slap "did" slap "I" slap "tell" slap "you?!" slap. Alphonse's head jerked back and forth with each blow. The man was using the whole of his palm and throwing all his weight into the stinging blows. The left side of his face hurt sharply and Al guessed a cut had opened on his face. He could also taste something coppery in his mouth. Blood. His tongue was bleeding where his teeth had been pushed into it. His lips had already developed new splits, both upper and lower.

"Stop it, Brother Jedidiah! Stop it now! You're killing him!" Alphonse recognized the voice of the woman who said she'd pray for him. It seemed to come from a long way away through a roaring in his ears. The slaps suddenly grew weaker and Al guessed she had grabbed Jedidiah's arm.

With a sudden roar of rage, Jedidiah turned upon Alphonse's rescuer. The weight left Al and the woman screamed. This was followed by the sound of flesh upon flesh as Jedidiah began slapping her. "Stupid woman!" he rasped. "When will you learn, when will you LEARN!?"

The roaring sound was fading, but Alphonse saw red through the gaps in the bag. This Jedidiah was the same one who had slapped Henrietta, punched Ian and the other prisoner, and kicked him in the stomach. So, he liked to beat women and children, did he? Alphonse's hands clenched so hard he could feel the nails digging into the soft pallms. Izumi had taught him many tricky martial arts moves, some of which would serve to punish this abusive man. He yanked the burlap bag up and off before he screamed, "Leave her alone, you bastard!"

Alphonse had to blink a few times before his eyes got used to the light. Fortunately, the pair in front of him were so frozen with shock, Al got the time he needed to catch his bearings. A petite blonde woman wearing what looked like a shapeless denim sack dress and muddy boots lay on her back underneath a man nearly three times her size. She was bleeding from the nose and mouth. There was a blue scarf hung around her neck and Jedidiah's hands were tangled in the scarf, as if he was strangling her with it.

Jedidiah would have made two Alphonses. His dark hair was crapped so short, patches of bare skin showed through. His eyes were also dark, but narrowed to such tiny slits, Alphonse couldn't tell their true color. Jedidiah had a straignt nose and a thin lipped mouth, and the skin around them was dark red with anger. His long neck was marred by a very prominent "Adam's apple" which rose above an oversized blue checked shirt with frayed collar and cuffs. The shirt was patched at the elbows, and patched at the knees was a pair of overly large black pants cinched in at the waist with a wide leather belt. On his feet were scuffed and muddy brown shoes.

Alphons took in all these impressions quickly because Jedidiah was off the woman he'd been beating, and after Alphonse in a flash. Al barely had time to react, he planted one shoe in Jedidiah's midsection and rocked back on his spine to send the other man flying over him.

Jedidiah landed awkwardly on his right shoulder with a loud crack!. Alphonse considered it poetic justice as the man cried out in pain. For Jedidiah had slapped him and the woman with his right hand.

Alphonse stood up shakily and leaned against the wall, breathing hard. His face still tingled sharply and his tongue twinged. He was aware people were approaching and surrounding him, but he didn't care. Two other women were helping the blonde woman to her feet.

"Are you all right?" Alphonse asked with innocent concern. "Did he hurt you badly?" The last thing he expected was for her to round upon him in fury.

"You FOOL!" she shrieked. "Do you know what you have done?!"

"I stopped a man about three times your size from beating you to death!" Alphonse replied heatedly, his fingers clenching into fists again. "It's not right for the strong to abuse the weak!" He suddenly realized he was shouting, and he immediately softened his tone before he added, "My mother taught me that when I was young."

"You have injured a prophet!" the blonde yelled back, as if she'd never heard him. "And Brother Jedidiah had the right to discipline you, and me!" She flung her right hand out in the direction of the said brother, who was being helped to limp away by two other men.

"Bullies are not prophets," Alphonse hissed from between clenched teeth, he was losing his patience with this woman who seemed to believe someone had the right to slap her around. "Even if he was a prophet, that is no excuse for beating women and children! If my brother were here, he'd tell you the exact same thing! Jedidiah's actions are injustice, not 'discipline'!"

"Our holy book says all men are prophets because only they are made in God's image," said one of the women supporting the blonde. " I urge you to heed Sister Bernadette's words and repent. I can see you are a kind boy and your heart is in the right place. But you are too impulsive and too willfull. Brother Jedidiah was attempting to teach you obedience."

"'Obedience?'" Alphonse attempted to stifle his bark of laughter and it came out as a snort. "The lunatics are running the asylum here. You are crazy if you think I'll join you!"

Three men came closer to Alphonse from the front, their eyes glaring and hands clenched to grab him. All right, I'll go down fighting if I have to, he thought as he took up a defensive position. He was so engrossed in watching his front, Alphonse forgot his back. A voice sighed in his left ear and Alphonse felt himself falling after something hard slammed into the side of his skull.
_____________________________________________________________________________


Hospitals always put Edward in a bad mood. He sat up in his bed, arms crossed and lower lip stuck out. While he pouted, he also wuite deliberately snubbed Ian who sat in a chair set on the left of the bed. The alchemist had woken up an hour ago with a splitting headache and a foul temper. Edward had briefly thrashed against his bonds, and then given up because movement only made his headache worse. Mrs. Deadlocke had arrived soon after, and she had slightly improved his mien when she unstrapped him. But the brief buoyancy Edward had felt evaporated when she followed up by sticking a thermometer into his mouth.

By all rights, the scorching look he gave the hospital matron should have made her burst into flames. Unfortunately for Edward, life isn't always fair and Mrs. Deadlocke was fireproof. She took his pulse in a frosty silence before she added insult to annoyance by abruptly reaching over and pinching his nose shut. A spoonful of castor oil went in when he opened his mouth to breathe, anything he had wanted to say had to wait while he swallowed the disgusting medicine. It slid down his throat and coagulated in his stomach like a hot lump of coal.

When Ian sat down in the chair half an hour later, nothing would have pleased Edward more than to puke in his lap. Not only did his stomach fail to oblige, it was growling loudly for its breakfast. Which was a bowl of thick and barely warm porridge on a wheeled table on his right. Edward had lifted the spoon once and cautiously licked it before he shuddered in revulsion. The porridge was the consistency of wallpaper paste, which probably tasted better than this.

"Edward." said Ian. "Edward, listen to me." The alchemist refused to look at him and pretended to be deeply interested in his neighbor's intravenous rig. Ian sat back and massaged his temples. He'd been up most of the night reviewing intelligence on the Christian enclave near Bishopscourt Hille. This place was the source of the more troublesome Christian elements in New Britain, as well as the likeliest place Alphonse and the rest of the kidnapped alchemists were being held. The last thing he remembered reading was Agent Dasher's report on the incident at Hotspur Hall:

I was shadowing the Princess Lilith on her way home to her dorm when I heard a cry coming from the direction of Hotspur Hall. I observed a young female in a state of great agitation running across the lawns and shouting for help.
A few yards behind the girl, and apparently pursuing her were two men in tan raincoats. The girl called out to the Princess and the Princess responded by calling her 'Lexie'. When the men came closer, she identified herself as the Princess Lilith of Lancaster, and she ordered the men to stop at once.
One of them shouted, "We don't take orders from mere women!" and made as if to surround the Princess and her companion. I promptly drew my service revolver and placed myself between the men and the two girls. I identified myself as Agent Dasher of MI7 and ordered them to do what the Princess said.
They refused. I fired once into the air and repeated my order. They drew truncheons from the pockets of their coats and charged. I shot one of them in the right knee, and he went down, but the other managed to strike me on the elbow and knock the revolver from my grasp. Both of us went down. He attempted to strike me about the head with his truncheon until I knocked it away. Then he seized me by the throat with both of his hands and began to strangle me....

Ian had fallen asleep at that point. He'd woken up some time later to the welcome smell of coffee, Cymru Roast to be exact. Not so welcome was the sight of "X" who sat in his overstuffed recliner (he'd been moved to the sofa), with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, and Agent Dasher's report in the other.

X smiled and said, "Good morning, Colonel Bond. Wouldn't you say Agent Dasher is a bit too fond of purple prose?"

Stupid with sleep, Ian had blinked several times at her. To try and drain the fog from his brain, he tried shaking his head a few times. But it only made his temples throb. Even if it was technically HIS coffee, he wished X would pour him a cup...

But X began to read "...my attempts at self defense loosened his grasp only slightly and I was beginning to lose consciousness. Suddenly, I heard a series of hollow thumping noises and the man let go of my throat and my vision cleared. I witnessed the girl known as Lexie enthusiastically striking the man about the head with his own truncheon. The man turned and struck the girl in the face, knocking her down. He had stood up and was beginning to move towards her when three closely spaced gunshots rang out. The Princess Lilith came into view from my right. She was holding my service revolver and had shot the man three times in the buttocks.
I had recovered enough by then to go to the aid of Lexie, who was bleeding from her mouth. I also pulled my radio phone out and called for back up. Agents Pouncer, Le Carre, and Steed arrived shortly thereafter. The first two offered to escort the Princess back to Lancaster House and she insisted Lexie accompany her.
Inspector Button and the Londonium police arrived as the Princess was leaving, and they took custody of the two men. After I retrieved my service revolver from the Princess, Agent Steed and I entered Hotspur Hall..."

X thankfully stopped reading. Dasher's report was as dry and dull as a Sunday sermon. "To make a long story short, witnesses reported seeing four men with ugly haircuts and wearing tan raincoats buttoned up to their chins feeling the scene. One had a limp, apparently unconscious person flung over one shoulder. A room to room search was made. In the lodgings shared by Pratchett Wodehouse and Alphonse Elric, evidence was recovered, inclduing a small silver aerosol canister. Tests have revealed it contained a sort of nerve gas which would almost instantly cause unconsciousness when breathed in. Canisters of the same gas have been recovered from all the kidnapping scenes and we have been in contact with the Meso-American ambassador to New Britain. She told us several pallets of this gas were stolen from the military depot at Fort Montezuma about six months ago."

X didn't have to ask Ian if he knew what this all meant. As well as being humiliating to MI7 in general, and the Secret Service in particular, this situation was already a monumental headache. Which could easily become an international incident.

"Alphonse Elric," X broke into his thoughts with a question. "Is he related to that Amestrian Colonel of yours?"

X was lying because she already knew the answer, but Ian nodded anyways. "Edward was quite upset when he learned about his little brother and he tried to check himself out of hospital...." Ian worried his upper lip with a thumb. "I will have to visit him after the morning briefing at HQ, but I have the feeling he won't be pleased with me."
_____________________________________________________________________________

Ian's gloomy prediction was spot on. Because the alchemist still refused to look at him.

"Bloody hell, Edward!" Ian exploded, then blushed and ran his hand through his short hair. "What more do you want me to do?"

"Get me out of here," Edward growled in reply while he studied the ceiling. It needed a fresh coat of paint.

"I can't do that, you know I can't," Ian sighed. He was beginning to lose his patience with the difficult Amestrian.

Edward bared his teeth. "I want OUT, Ian."

"Dammit, Elric, you've suffered a concussion. So it's bed rest for three days. And thanks to your little stunt yesterday, you get to spend all of them in hospital."

"Al is in trouble, Ian. I've got to find him."

"The staff thinks you're barmy. Most people would get seven days for psychiatric evaluation. But, I pulled some strings on your behalf. And Dr. Luthor understands you are anxious about Alph..."

"ANXIOUS!?" Edward bellowed so loudly, his voice echoed around the entire ward. Sleeping patients were rudely jerked awake, and already awake paitents peered at him curiously. "My little brother had been kidnapped by religious zealots who are doing who knows what to him! You're damn right I'm anxious!"

"Keep your voice down!" Ian hissed. "Do you want to be strapped down again?" He picked up one of the leather wrist straps, which was still attached to the bed frame, and waved it in Edward's line of sight. He was yelling, but at least he was glaring right at Ian.

Edward gave him a sour look. "You can't scare me, Mrs. Deadlocke already beat you to it. Even I'm starting to believe Pratchett's claim she is 'the Patient Crusher'."
____________________________________________________________________________

Returning consciousness brought the grinding pain of a headache and Alphonse groaned loudly when he woke up. His head felt like it would split in two if he dared to raise it from whereever he was laying. Alphonse lay still as he could and the lancing agony eased off, but only a little.

He gradually became aware of some other things. There was something rough around his face and Alphonse cautiously reached a curious hand up to explore. The burlap bag hadn't been put back over his head, but he had been blindfolded, possibly with the same type of material. Alphonse could smell earth and a musty odor, he most likely was still underground. He stirred a bit and something beneath him squeaked and gave slightly. He had been laid on a cot, or a bed.

There was another scent underlaying the earth smell and Alphonse took a deeper breath.

Bleach!

It brought a sharp edged memory to his mind's eye. He was very young and someone was carrying him about the backyard of his old home in Risembool. All about him white sheets and pillowcases waved and flapped in a warm wind, and all of them smelled subtly of bleach. The wind suddenly died down and the sheets stilled. This enabled him to see a figure with chestnut hair kneeling over a wicker basket full of laundry. With one smooth motion, the figure stood up with another white sheet in it's hands, and pinned it to the clothesline. After the task was done, it turned in his direction, and gasped lightly in surprise. Then the figure smiled at him. Alphonse felt his younger self must have been crying, but now he'd found the person he had searched for. And so he smiled back.

MaMa.

Alphonse reached chubby little arms out towards her.

MaMa!

He was hungry and he wanted his dinner. He knew where it came from.

MaMa!

The wind picked up again and a sheet blew against him, obscuring her from view. The sheet felt soft, and it had a faint scent of bleach. A smell which reminded him of home and the one person he missed most of all.

Mother.

Then the memory was gone abruptly. Alphonse's throat felt tight with tears and the pillowcase against his right cheek was rough and scratchy. It smelled strongly of bleach. Too strongly. He sniffed back the tears, and then stilled when he heard movement and breathing behind him. He was being watched by someone. A chill raced up his spine and he bit back another groan. Alphonse lay as still as he could and pretended to be asleep.

"I know you are awake," a woman said to him. Alphonse didn't recognize the voice. It wasn't Sister Bernadette, nor her helper. But he made note of the crisp note of command in her voice. He'd head it used before, by First Lieutenant Hawkeye, Granny Pinako, and Teacher. Even by Winry, when she was angry with Brother.

"Does your head hurt badly?" the woman asked, a note of concern had crept into her voice, but the steel was still underneath. "Lay on your back, Alphonse, and roll up your sleeve. I'll give you an injection to ease the pain."

He felt a brief flare of resentment at the preemptory tone. She was one of his captors, why should he do what she said? "Please do as I ask, Alphonse, it will go much easier on you if you cooperate. Here, hold still, I'll take your blindfold off."

He gritted his teeth and rolled onto his back, but he wouldn't meet her eyes after she untied the strip of burlap. Nor would Alphonse pull up his shirt sleeve, and he watched a pair of graceful, long-fingered hands undo the bottons of the left cuff and roll the shirt sleeve up past his elbow.

The hands disappeared and Alphonse next heard the gurgling of liquid, followed by a clink of glass. He heard other sounds: paper crinkling, then a couple of faint squeaking noises. The hands reappeared with a length of rubber tubing which they tied about Alphonse's arm, just above his elbow. They disappeared a second time, but came back almost immediately with a square of cotton, which they wiped in a circular pattern on the tender skin.

Alphonse swallowed hard around a lump which had suddenly formed in his throat when the alchohol swabbing was complete. He began to tremble as one of the hands set the tip of a hypodermic needle against the vein. It brought on another memory, of a night in London. When he'd woken up in the back seat of a car and groggy from choloroform. Just in time to see a needle going into his arm...

"If the needle makes you uncomfortable, look at me, Alphonse."

Alphonse looked up and his wide, chocolate brown eyes met the narrow green ones of an older woman, a woman he had never seen before. She wasn't smiling, but the ends of her mouth curved up anyways as if she was perpetually amused. She had a square face, and a promiment jaw, other than the lines around the eyes commonly called 'crow's feet', her face was unblemished by marks of age. Alphonse couldn't tell the color of her hair because it had been scraped back and completely tucked underneath a deep blue scarf. The rest of her body was hidden underneath a robe of the same color which had a high collar. It hid most of her neck, but Alphonse thought he could see a bit of reddened and puckered skin, like it had been burned, just underneath the top of the collar.

She gave him a slow smile and then announced. "There! All done!"

He looked down at his arm and saw she had already untied the rubber tubing and withdrawn the needle. A small dot of blood formed at the point of injection before she wiped it away with a cotton square, then affixed a self adhesive bandage over it.

Alphonse looked back at her face, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. She looked blandly serene and she'd been gentle with him so far, but this woman was in league with his kidnappers. She was the enemy, and not to be trusted.

"My name is Sister Janette and I'll look after you for a while until I'm sure you haven't suffered a concussion. Then you will re-join the religious education with the other blasphemers."

There was that word again: blasphemers. Alphonse felt he may have 'blasphemed' once, but that was a long time ago. And he'd paid for it, his punishment being four long years of his soul being bound to a suit of armor. Until his older brother's sacrifice reuinited his body and soul. As far as he was concerned, he'd paid - BOTH of them had paid - their dues. He was not a blasphemer, no, not anymore.

Sister Janette had gotten up as she said this, and gone to the door. She knocked on the inside surface and said, "Brother Zenos, let me out please." The locks grated open and slice of light flowed into the dim chamber from the hall outside. She turned back to Alphonse. "Rest now, Alphonse Elric. And I will bring you something to eat."

Janette smiled one more time before she stepped through the gap, and then she was gone. Alphonse glared back and ground his teeth with frustration. Not since that day on Yock Island when he and Brother had prevented Wrath from killiing Teacher had he wanted to pummel anyone more.
__________________________________________________________________

Author's note: Does anyone recognize the "Lost" vibe I was going here for? I have to confess I modled Sister Janette a bit on Juliette, the Other who so tormented Jack while he was in that glass cage. Juliette is only a fictional character, but I had such a strong urge to punch her in the face during some of those episodes. Which is probably the sort of visceral response the writers of the show are looking for. If a description they write makes viewers/readers want to love or hate a character, then the writers are doing their job.

SUSPENSE~! O_O

I cannot wait until the next chapter. You know I'll be checking this page constantly, right?

Chapter 30 is half written. And I have to be honest, for the first part, it was fighting, fighting, fighting. Like it didn't want to be written. My writing groove has been going in fits and starts on this chapter. Certain revelations will be made in the next few chapters, plus the wrapping up of the flashback chapters. Ironically, I had an idea for chapter 31 and that is coming together a lot faster than this one.
There is no school till next Tuesday, plus our expected Easter company is NOT coming, so I'll have plenty of time to write more of chapter 30 and type up what I have written.

Take your time. I'm just a loyal fan.

I know I said take your time, but IttyBittyPretty-

I'm desperate to read your work right now. Please update, I really need it. T_T

Chapter 30 has been typed up, and I sent it to Bishie Huntin' Shinigami for betaing today. When she gets done depends on what more important things she has to do. I know you're anxious to find out what happens to poor Alphonse. I've made a good start on chapter 31, Edward meets someone from his past, and Alphonse has a hot time.

I've also been having a terrible last few days, and your writing makes me feel better. ()

AL! What's happened to you? xD

YOWZA I haven't updated in SIX months! I've written chapters 30 and 31, and am making a start on chapter 32. Chapter 30 was sent to Bishie Huntin' Shinigami who volunteered to beta it. But she's been delayed herself by TONS of schoolwork. Then the poor girl was hospitalized for three days with Dengue Fever! Get well soon, Bishie!
Soon as I get the beta results from her, I will post the chapter.

And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA. Heck, I don't even live there. I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the characters for awhile.
Warnings: some sappiness between teenagers, and college textbooks with long titles. Also violence and bad language.
Author's notes: post movie story which supposes a little adventure after Edward and Alphonse return to their world after roughly 3-1/2 years trapped on the other side of the Gate. It shifts back and forth between Amestris/New Britain 1920-21, and Germany October 1924 - January 1925 to England January 1925 - January 1926. (Going by a 3.5:1 machine world/alchemic world ratio) Confusing, yes? Worlds and cultures, alchemy and religion are colliding and it all threatens to become a big ugly mess unless the Elric brothers, and Edward's counterpart in MI-7 can stop it.
Co-Betas: bishiehuntin' Shinigami and fullmetalfemme

Chapter 30: In which Alphonse becomes all tongue tied, plus Amelia does some sleuthing

Alphonse's last class that day had been Advanced Calculus, and Professor Twist had popped a surprise quiz upon his students. It had been a real brain buster, so he wasn't thinking of anything in particular when he fit his key into the lock of the door which led to the lodgings he shared in Hotspur Hall with Pratchett.

Miss Chievous was usually there to greet him, then try to sneak out, and Alphonse had thought it odd the short entrance hall was empty. But he quickly put it out of his mind. Thinking made his brain hurt, besides, he was dead tired, hungry and thirsty. He walked into the dining room, and with a grateful groan, slipped the bookbag off his aching shoulder It hit the table with a loud thud and the legs shuddered ominously. His professors had given him a TON of homework, plus he still had to finish the course work he'd missed because of his unscheduled swim.

Tomorrow was Saturday, but there would be no sleeping in for Alphonse. He'd be studying, filling in worksheets, and writing papers all weekend. Unless - he could convince Brother to help him. It would be almost just like the old days, except he would be able to eat the popcorn he would make to help them along. Alphonse's stomach rumbled at the thought of food. Rubbing his sore shoulder, he headed towards the swinging door which seperated the kitchen from the dining room.

In the kitchen, Alphonse found Miss Chievous, sitting morosely on the counter next to the icebox.

"Hello, Missy," he scratched her behind the ears until she purred and butted her head against his hand. Then she pawed at the door of the icebox and meowed loudly. Alphonse knew this meant Missy was hungry too. Feed. Me. Now. Human.

He ruffled her ears and chuckled, "Chowhound." Miss repeated her demanding meow, so he opened the icebox and retrieved the container of homemade cat food he mixed fresh every few days.

"That bloody cat eats better than I do!" Pratchett had exploded in mock outrage after another Hotspur resident visiting from the next floor up mistook the cat food for a casserole. 'Pongo' had eaten most of the contents before Alphonse walked in to the kitchen and told him what is was. The gangly boy had paled only momentarily before he pronounced it the best thing I've ever tasted, and begged Alphonse for the recipe.

Alphonse pried open the cover of the celluloid box and got a spoon from the silverware drawer, then put a few scoops into her china food bowl. The food he made was very basic: he bought scrap beef, chicken, lamb and pork from a nearby butcher shop, and stewed them together with rice and grated carrots in chicken broth. Then it was strained to remove any fat, and allowed to cool before he put it into a celluloid box and into the icebox. Each batch lasted two to three days before Alphonse made a fresh one. Unless a fellow college student ate it by mistake.

While Missy ate, Alphonse also noticed her water bowl was almost empty, and he refilled it from the tap at the sink. Unsure if Missy would like New British tap water, he had brought a few bottles of Risembool tap water with him, and gradually eased her transition by mixing the two types of water together. He didn't notice any difference, but he'd read cats could be as finicky about water as they were about food. Alphonse leaned on the kichen counter and smiled to watch the kitten eating - until his own stomach repeated it's demands to be filled.

After one final chirrup at Missy, he reopened the icebox door, and rummaged around for a bit before he came out with a bottle of watermelon juice and a Crimson Delicious apple. Alphonse went back through the swinging door with the apple clenched between his teeth while he twisted off the cap on the bottle of juice. He stopped after a few steps into the dining room to take hold of the apple in one hand so he could bite off a chunk of it. Before he tackled the mountain of school work which awaited him, he would take a few minutes to eat his snack, play with Missy, and change into more casual clothes.

Alphonse took a swig of the juice to wash the chewed apple down, then bit off another chunk and chewed it slowly while he stared into space and thought of nothing at all. It felt good to let his mind off it's leash and gambol about free of worries about assignments and schedules. The doorbell rang while he was taking another drink of juice and he choked briefly. He looked in the direction of the door when the bell rang again. It was probably Pratchett, he was so scatterbrained about his keys, he either forgot to take them with him in the morning, or forgot they were already in the bottom of his bookbag. Alphonse stuck the rest of the apple in between his teeth and went to let his roommate in.

But the person on the lother side of the door wasn't Pratchett. It was someone Alphonse was both glad and a little afraid to see:

Lexington Wodehouse.

Also known as 'Lexie', she was Pratchett's little sister. A bright and bubbly fifteen year old, she shared the same shade of brown eyes and hair with Pratchett. But the resemblence ended there. Lexie's eyes were large and luminous, her hair long and silky. And Alphonse seemed to be short of breath every time he looked at her. For her part, Lexie seemed to be totally oblivious of the effect she had upon him and other boys, so she left a trail of confused and lovesick young males where ever she went.

As much as Alphonse enjoyed Lexie's company, he never knew quite what to say whenever she was near. He didn't dare tell her he liked her because he was afraid she would laugh at him. Alphonse was also afraid Pratchett would hear him. If there was one thing Pratchett Wodehouse was fierce about, it was protecting the 'honor' of his little sister. Alphonse was especially spooked after Prince told him Pratchett had once nearly come to blows with a classmate who had dared to pat Lexie's bottom on high school graduation day.

So what would Pratchett do to Alphonse, a twenty-one year old soul in a sixteen year old body? Who was also a foreigner, not to mention much less a major in a foreign army? He feared Pratchett would do something violent if he dared speak to Lexie as anything more than just her big brother's friend.

Lexie smiled at him from the other side of the threshold and Alphonse's mind went blank.

"Hello, Alphonse," she bubbled at him, and like an idiot, Alphonse just stared back with the apple still clenched between his teeth. "Aren't you going to let me in?"

His mental gears re-engaged with a jerk. "Ug, hewo Exey," Alphonse tried to speak around the apple. Then he remembered his manners, took the apple out of his mouth, and stepped back. "Uh, sorry about that, please come in, Lexie."

She shot him a dazzling smile as she came inside and sashayed up the hall towards the dining room. Alphonse trailed in her wake, red-faced and sweating with nerves. The dining room was a mess with books, papers, and dirty dishes strewn on the table and most of the chairs. He didn't even want to think about the disaster areas known as their bedrooms. Lexie didn't seem to care though, and she made a beeline for his book bag.

Her right hand was reaching for the bag's clasp when she stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "Oh please, Alphonse," her smile was bewitching. "I know it makes me look like an awful swot, but I love to look at college textbooks!"

She flashed smile like that made even a beating by an enraged Pratchett worthwhile, and Alphonse melted like butter in a hot pan. "Su - sure," he stammered. "Look all you like."

"Thank you!" she trilled, then she emptied the bag in ninety seconds. Lexie picked up the top book from the pile she'd excavated. Adventures In Advanced Mathematics was the title of the heavy volume. "Maths is my favorite subject, you know."

Her nose was in the book before she'd finished speaking. Lexie looked so happy her smile could have lit up a dark room, so Alphonse pulled out a chair, sat down and soaked in the rays. Math was easy for him, but the real adventure lay in toting that book around campus without throwing his back out. Talk about 'heavy reading'!

After Lexie had finished flipping through the mathematics book, she picked up the next book, Physionomic Structures of the Domestic Cat That wasn't quite as interesting, so she laid it back down on the table. Which Alphonse felt was a good thing because one chapter dealt with feline reproduction, and it contained many color plates of cats mating. It was something he didn't want Lexie to see. The next volume, Societal And Economic Relationships Between Alchemy and Witchcraft In The Sixteenth Century seemed just as dry and it was quickly laid down as was the next book, Alchemy And It's Development In Other Lands, 123rd edition, revised on top of the others. Lexie uttered a tiny squeal of delight when she unearthed the fourth book, Partridge's Concise Guide To College Level Chemistry, Freshman Edition.

Her eyes lit up as she cracked the book open and she began to mutter under her breath. Then she put a hand over her mouth and coughed. Alphonse shot up from his chair like he'd been shocked. "Uh, Lexie, can I get you something to drink?"

"Thank you, Alphonse, that would be lovely." She went right back to the book and he was glad she hadn't explored the bookbag any further. It contained a jumbled mishmash of things: two expanding file folders full of worksheets and essays in various stages of completion, plus several wire bound notebooks into which Alphonse scribbled his course notes. An outer pocket of the bookbag held handkerchiefs (some of which needed laundering), pens, pencils, erasers, a packet of 'Sleep Not' tablets (which he usually forgot to take), and a small notepad to write his assignments in.

But Lexie ignored that, and she even put down the chemistry book because something else had grabbed her attention. A rapturously purring Miss Chievous, her tummy full of cat food, was sinously winding around Lexie's ankles, and vocalizing for attention.

"Hullo, Missy," Lexie crooned, then bent down and offered her hand for the tabby kitten to sniff. A head butt signified the feline's acceptance and Lexie stood back up with Missy in her arms. Her purrs were so loud, Alphonse could hear them from the far end of the table, and he smiled at the vaguely domestic scene.

Then a blinking light caught his attention.

The telephone stood on a low oak table along one wall and it was attached to two answering machines. The larger white machine was for Pratchett's messages and the light was almost always blinking, But the smaller black machine hardly ever blinked because only a few people had Alphonse's college phone number. The last time it had blinked was when Brother had called from L'Escargot to tell him what time his ferry would be docking. Alphonse had erased that message, so this had to be a new one from Brother. He hardly expected calls from Winry or Granny, the elder Rockbell wasn't one to waste money on long-distance phone calls unrelated to the automail business.

Lexie was still busy with Miss Chievous, who was kneading her paws on the girl's shoulder, which meant he could take a few minutes to listen to the message without appearing to be rude. He excused himself, and got up from his seat, walked over to the the machine, and tapped the 'playback' button. Alphonse smiled at Edward's first fumbling words, but the admission about the attack yesterday wiped it right off his face. Why didn't Brother tell me? WHEN was he going to tell me?

"The Drachman affair wiped it right out of my mind..."

Alphonse bobbed his head in a slight nod. That he could understand.

"...but now they know about you."

Miss Chievous suddenly hissed, and Lexie cried out in pain. Alphonse spun around to his left in time to see the kitten jump down to the floor and dart away, still hissing, with her tail all bushed out. "Lexie, are you all right?"

"So I'm calling to warn you..."

"It's all right, Alphonse," Lexie was looking at her left hand, blood welled from scratches on two fingers. "She just scratched me a little."

The girl looked over at Alphonse, then beyond him. She turned pale, her eyes widened, and she screamed, "Alphonse! Look out!"

Alponse whirled back to his right. Approaching him and slightly fanned out were four figures in tan raincoats. He couldn't say for sure if they were men or women, or what their faces looked like because their heads appeared to be round and black, with large, staring eyes and long snouts with stubby ends. He was startled enough not to recognize them for what they were: gas masks.

Alphonse instinctively took a defensive stance, legs spread shoulder width apart, slightly bent over, and hands held stiffly. He must protect Lexie. Over his shoulder, he shouted "Lexie, RUN!"

Retreating footsteps told him she had taken his advice, so he grinned toothily at the intruders and growled, "Want a piece of me?!"

"Love you, little brother."

Alplhonse heard the final line of Edward's message just as one of the figures extended a small, silver aerosol can in one gloved hand. It depressed the top button and a fine yellow spray shot out and enveloped Alphonse's head before he could react.

He coughed a few times and his vision went all fuzzy. The room tilted, then Alphonse fell into darkness, unconscious before he hit the floor.
_____________________________________________________________________________

Not even Edward's longest rants could last forever, and his eventually wound down. But he continued to fuss and fume at Ian, he waved his arms and gestulated with his hands, "Three days, Bond! THREE DAYS! I'm going to be driven insane if I can't do something to find Al before then!"

"I sympathize, Edward, but this bears repeating. A concussion is serious business. People have died because they didn't received prompt medical attention."

"I have a hard head and I've been hurt worse than this. A little bump on the noggin is nothing," Edward finished with an angry growl in his voice because Mrs. Deadlocke had just glided into his field of view. He clenched the bedsheets so hard, the knuckles of his left hand turned white.

The hospital matron glided up to his bed side and crisply announced, "You have a visitor, Colonel Elric," Mrs. Deadlocke's expression made it obvious she wasn't impressed. "I have made it clear she is not to stay too long because you need to rest." She turned to her left and nodded grimly before swiveling and gliding away in the opposite direction. Both men looked at each other, each privately asking the same question Alphonse had when he encountered her: did Mrs. Deadlocke have wheels or feet underneath her skirts?

A tall, dark-skinned woman walked cautiously up to Edward's bed. Her black hair was cut in the style known as a 'pageboy': the back cropped very short and the hair gradually became longer as it swept to the front of her face, with the final strands sweeping past her jawline. The bangs were swept to the right side of her face and held in place with a small, round black and silver clip.
She wore a grey skirt suit of a severely businesslike cut, the effect softened with the lapels, cuffs, and pocket flaps faced in red. The skirt fell just short of her knees and showed off quite shapely legs clad in a clear shade of nylon hosiery. Over her left arm was the strap of a large brown leather briefcase, but Edward was staring in shock at her eyes.

They were large and almond-shaped, and fringed with long black lashes. She had applied liner around the eyes, and shadow in a dark bronze shade. But what really startled Edward was the vivid red color of the irises.

"You're an Ishbalan!" he exclaimed in surprise.
_____________________________________________________________________________

Alphonse woke up with a gasp. He was in darkness, and it pressed heavily on his eyes until they become accustomed. Only then could they distinguish different layers of darkness, like the slivers of light around the door of his cell. Or the weak halo of light cast by a fat little candle set upon a small china dish, which sat on a small table next to the bed he lay on. He heard clothing rustling to his left, and Alphonse could guess who it was.

"You're awake at last," Sister Janette remarked crisply. "I was afraid your soup would get cold before long."

Alponse sat up slowly in the bed as Sister Janette adjusted his pillow, then set a small tray with stubby legs across his lap. "Officially, all blasphemers brought here for re-education are to be denied sustenance until they repent," she said while setting a bowl of thick red soup up on the tray. "But, unofficially, I've decided to make an exception because of your youth."

Alphonse picked up the spoon she had laid next to the bowl and he warily stirred the still hot soup. The fragrance of tomatoes, and something nutty wafted up to his nose. A substance which looked like rice was swimmnig in the liquid and he looked at it suspiciously while his stomach growled in anticipation. His mouth began to water - he was very hungry - but still felt too much resentment and anger to eat.

"It's tomato and leek soup Alphonse. Just try it," Sister Janette urged. "It's been simmering all day, and is very healthy."

He took a spoonful, and blew on it before he tipped the spoon into his mouth. Tomato leek soup, huh? He grimaced. It tasted more like a tomato and a leek had been soaked in hot water for an hour or so, and the result called "soup". After only a few mouthfuls, barely enough to satisfy his empty stomach, Alphonse tossed his spoon into the bowl in disgust. Soup slopped over the bowl's rim onto the tray, and he didn't care.

"Finish your soup, Alphonse."

"NO," he folded his arms and rearranged his expressive face into a pout which managed to look remarkably like his older brother's.

"Alphonse," Sister Janette's voice took on an edge of steely menace. He spared one surly glance at her face which was still in it's mask of perpetual amusement. Only her narrowed green eyes betrayed any hint of annoyance.

I've met Mrs. Deadlocke, she's far scarier than you.

"Alphonse Phillipius Elric!"

He whipped his head around to face her, his chocolate-brown eyes, and his mouth rounded in surprise. "How - how did you know my full name?!" he demanded with growing anger fueled by unease. "Tell me!"

With one swift flick of his wrists, Alphonse sent the bowl, spoon and tray flying off the bed. The wooden tray clattered on the floor and the spoon went 'tink!' as it bounced end over end into a far corner of the cell. But the china bowl shattered against the door, sending the ersatz soup splashing all over the door and walls, where it dripped down on to the floor Keys rattled in the lock from the other side of the door,and Sister Janette called, "It's all right, Brother Zenos! Just a little disagreement!"

When the unlocked noises stopped, and Sister Janette smiled at Alphonse, tapping the manila folder on her lap. "I know everything about you, well, almost everything," she smiled and ducked her head, the angry look gone from her eyes. "Tthere are some holes in our file. We are hoping you will cooperate and tell us."

"No! Never!" Alphonse shook his head emphatically, but he stopped suddenly when he felt an intense wave of vertigo wash over him.

"Shall I tell you what we do know, Alphonse?" Sister Janette opened the folder and he wondered why her face seemed to be going in and out of focus.

"Your full name," she began to read off a typewritten page. "Is Alphonse Phillipius Elric, and you were born August 31, 1899 in Risembool, a village in the south eastern quadrant of Amestris. Which makes you technically just eighteen months younger than your elder brother, Edward Paracelsus Elric. Your mother is Trisha Elric, nee Crawford. The Crawfords settled in Risembool over one hundred years ago, but before that, they were easy enough to trace. But your father, Hohenheim Elric, he is a different matter entirely. There doesn't seem to be any record of his existence, not even of his marriage to Trisha. Nor are there any records of the births of Edward and you. That is the first mystery."

Sister Janette folded her hands together, and rested her chin upon them. "Then there is the second mystery we hope to clear up. The calendar says it's late September of the year 1920. So you should be twenty-one, yet here you are, only sixteen years old. The third mystery is what happened in 1908, when you were allegedly nine and Edward was ten. All we know is, there was some sort of accident which resulted in Edward losing an arm and a leg. But, what happened to you? When the Elric brothers show up in East City a year later, you are inexplicably wearing a suit of ancient armor."

Alponse leaned back on his pillow when another wave of vertigo hit, but this one didn't go away and he closed his eyes against the dizziness. Sister Janette's voice seemed to come from far away.

"Alphonse. Did you notice anything odd about the soup?"

He cracked one eye open slightly. "You people can't make a proper soup, you mean?"

She chuckled, a rich, dark sound which stabbed at his soul. "No, Alphonse, you mean you can't tell?"

Alphonse started to shake his head, but he was forced to stop when wave after wave of dizziness began to assult his senses and make him feel nauseous.

"It was drugged, Alphonse. Drugged with a little something called sodium pentathol. But it has a more popular name, would you like to know what it is?"

Alphonse was only semi conscious by now, and he made no reply beyond a barely audible mumble.

"It's better known as truth serum, Alphonse. You didn't eat as much of the soup as I'd hoped, but maybe you ingested enough of the drug to make you talk." Alphonse said nothing, so Sister Janette set the file on the floor, leaned forward, and with one finger peeled back the lid of his left eye. Satisfied he was asleep, she got up and walked to the door. A knock brought Brother Zenos on the double. "He's ready. Go fetch the others."
____________________________________________________________________________

A darker flush spread across the woman's cheekbones and Edward felt even his own face get warm. He had blurted out his exclamation very loudly and exquisitely timed just as there was a lull in the general chatter of the ward. Patients, nurses, orderlies, visitors, and one doctor stared at him curiously until Edward wished he could become invisible. Then one of the orderlies said, "Oh, it's just that bloody daft Amstrian!" and all shook their heads in wonder why he wasn't in the psychiatric ward.

Edward's neighbor in the next bed, an elderly man,whispered sotto voce to his visitor, "'E belongs in a straitjacket and a padded cell ' does! You shoulda 'erd 'im a yelling and carrying on yesterday. The little blighter must be all lungs!"

Edward ground his teeth together,and clenched his fists again for a moment before he reached over with his right hand to grab a curtain which ran on rails in the ceiling. He gave it a hard yank and the man, and all but his own visitors were shut out from view.

"Edward," Ian said quietly. "May I introduce Agent Amelia Dasher. Agent Dasher, this is Colonel Edward Elric." To show she wasn't insulted, Amelia sidled closer to Edward's right side and extended her right hand to shake. "In New Britain, my people are called Ishvarlians, Colonel Elric."

He reluctantly reached out his automail hand and very gently clasped her hand. He preferred to wear his white gloves when around people who weren't used to seeing automail because they tended to stare and point. But Amelia's red eyes opened only the barest fraction in response, and then only for an eyeblink. Then she closed her own hand over the automail and gave it the briefest pump before she let go.

Edward was on the verge of hiding his hand back under the bed sheet when he stopped and his face flushed again. Agent Dasher had seen his automail, and it didn't bother her. Why should it bother him? He blew a sigh and relaxed back against his pillow. Ian beamed like a proud parent who had defused a sibling squabble with brilliant diplomacy. "What you call 'Ishbalans', Edward, are the indigenous people of this world. Dark-skinned people with red eyes are the parent race of every country, and are known by many different names."

Edward waited a beat before he responded, "I - I guess, um, Amestrians aren't as cultured as I thought. He finished with a sheepish smile and a rub to the back of his head. Now thoroughly embarassed by his immature behavior, he had a strong urge to hide his head underneath the sheets.

Agent Dasher opened the leather briefcase and brought out a folder, also in brown leather, "You will want to see this, Colonel Elric." Glad for something to do, Edward took the folder, opened it's clasp, and drew out a buff cardboard expanding folder. It was fat with files, and he pulled them out and spread them across his lap. A piece of paper atop them was marked 'TOP SECRET' , and 'DO NOT REMOVE' in thick red letters.

"I felt you needed to know everything about the people who kidnapped Alphonse," Ian explained. "I was given special dispensationm to take this from HQ." His unspoken hope was that Edward would reciprocate and spill some of his own secrets. Each of the manila files had a single name written on the top in thick black letters, and a picture was pasted below each name. Edward recognized some of them immediately:

JOSEPH CARPENTER
JOSEPH COAT
JONAH WHALE

SOLOMON GRUNDEE was the name linked to a photo of the bald man Edward had fought in the alchemist society building, and JESU PALME the long haired man Solomon had attempted to rescue. Edward wasn't interested in these people and he quickly flipped to the sixth file in the pile. The picture was of a person he didn't recognize, a serene looking woman with green eyes, her hair covered with a blue scarf.

JANETTE SEMPLE. Edward opened the folder and he began to read the first, typewritten page, and his blood began to run cold before he reached the end. What he was reading was the transcript of an interview with the recently rescued Trinity Eldritch, who named this Janette as her 're-educator'. She had been deprived of food, water and sleep for fifteen hours after her kidnapping, and just when Trinity could no longer take it and was ready to break, a woman calling herself Sister Janette had intervened. She had taken the frightenened and sobbing teen away, removed the burlap bag from her head and given her a bed to sleep on. When she woke up, she was allowed food and water.

This gentle treatment had lasted for a period of three days - seventy-two hours - while Sister Janette tried to convince her to 'repent', to 'cast off the evil called alchemy', and convert to the Christian faith. But Trinity refused to admit she was a 'blasphemer' in those three days, and then the gloves came off. The light in her cell was turned off, and two other women replaced Janette. They hit Trinity and told her she would be burned alive at the stake, and God would send her to hell after she died in the flames. After two days of abuse, Janette had come to Trinity again and begged, 'with tears in her eyes' for Trinity to convert.

The girl still had the will to refuse, and at dawn the next morning, her wrists had been tied together behind her back, she was blindfolded, and a rope was put around her neck. Then she was led outside by one of the women, while the other one repeatedly shoved her from behind. After a few yards, she was picked up and lifted into a truck. After a drive Trinity estimated lasted an hour, perhaps two, the truck stopped and she was taken out. The two women took over again, her blindfold was removed and she found herself on a flat, muddy meadow. Ahead of her was a circle of six large wooden poles encircled by wooden platforms about six feet up. The two women pushed and pulled her to the nearest pole, and up a ladder to the platform She was untied, but her wrists were immediately put into iron fetters. Janette had followed them up, and she asked one more time for Trinity to 'repent'.

The girl refused one last time, and Janette, sobbing as if her heart would break, climbed down the ladder. Then bundles of kerosene-soaked wood were piled around the pole, the pile rising higher until they had almost reached the level of the platform. That was when someone shouted, "STOP! In the name of the Queen!"

Acting on a tip from an informant, agents of MI-7, the New British Secret Service, and the local police raided the Christian compound and rescued not just Trinity, but some other members of alchemic families. Unfortunately, although the 'burning ground' was uncovered, the agents were unable to find the prison she and the others had been kept in. Testimony from Trinity and the other rescued alchemists led them to believe it was underground and cleverly hidden.

Edward couldn't read anymore. He shut the file on Sister Janette and stared at her photo with unfocused eyes. Trinity was first shown cruelty, then kindness in an attempt to break her. Back in the day, he'd seen Mustang double team suspected terrorists in this fashion. 'Bad soldier, nice soldier', Roy had called it. With his imposing physical presence, Major Armstrong usually got the 'bad soldier role. While Major Hughes and his gift of gab was the 'nice soldier'.

Eventually, being the 'heavy' got to the big hearted Strong Arm Alchemist and Maes became the 'bad soldier' until he was murdered. Roy took over the 'bad soldier' role and he assigned Second Lieutenant Havoc - who also had the gift of gab - to be the nice guy.

But the psychological tactics of the Christians wasn't what was bothering Edwrd. It was Sister Janette's face, she looked so familiar, like someone he had recently met...

He pinched his eyes shut, which caused Ian to ask, "Edward? Are you in pain?"

"I must be thinking too much Ian, my brain hurts." Edward mumbled. He was still cold inside.

Are they doing this to Al right now?

There was a seventh file folder underneath Janette's, but Edward really did have a headache. He gathered up the files and stuffed them back inside the buff folder before shoving them underneath his pillow. One of Ian's eyebrows rose and and one side of his mouth twitched, "You going to sleep on it, Edward?"

"Yeah," he laid back with his left hand over his face.

"Very well," Ian stood up. "I have some leads to check out, so I'll leave Agent Dasher with you." She had been standing quietly, hands folded and looking at the floor, but she looked up quickly when Ian said that.

"But, sir..." she began to protest, but he held up a hand to silence her.

"No buts, Agent Dasher, you're on desk duty for a while anyways. So you might as well stay here and keep Colonel Elric company."
_____________________________________________________________________________

Alphonse cautiously opened his right eye to a narrow slit. After a moment's observation through the curtain of his long eyelashes confirmed he was alone, he rolled off the bed and stood up next to it. He swayed when a sharp wave of vertigo crashed against his senses and he nearly fell down. Staggering more sideways than forwards, Alphonse went to the furthest corner of the cell and sank to his knees. He waited there for a moment, trembling, because he dreaded what he was about to do.

No time like the present, he thought, opened his mouth, and stuck his index finger down his throat. He choked, then retched, but nothing came up. Alphonse tried again and he retched more loudly. The sound echoed about the cell and he listened hard, afraid someone might have heard. He had one more chance. This time, Alphonse stuck both his index, and his longest finger down his throat, as far as they could go. His gag reflex kicked in, but he resolutely held the fingers there until his stomach contracted three times and finally gave its all.

He coughed several times after regurgitating the last of the drugged soup, spat once, then rose shakily to his feet. Murmuring voices could be heard approaching. As quickly as he could, Alphonse staggered back to the bed and fell into it, his job done. Trying to ignore the burning sensation in his throat, and the soreness in his abdominal muscles, he closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.
____________________________________________________________________________

Sleep had also claimed Edward, despite his determination to stay awake. Amelia sat in the chair Ian had vacated, and she watched the Amestrian twitch and mutter in the throes of a vivid dream. She had taken a romance novel (Conquest of Love, number thirty-seven in the Ishvarlians In Love book series) from the briefcase and was trying very hard to concentrate on the purple prose ("...her lush breasts heaving like the waves of a stormy sea, Rose shrank back against the side of the tent as the evil Xingian prince, his intent to violate her clear on his angular face, kept advancing upon her...") But she stopped reading, and started listening when Colonel Elric began to talk in his sleep.

"No. Oh, please, no! It's a rebound! Al! Alphonse! He's - he's gone! We failed. Mom, I'm - sorry. I didn't want this to happen. Oh - ouch! It hurts! OW! Please, please - stop! My head, it's about to burst!"

Edward's face twisted in pain and he gasped a few heavy breaths.

"I - I understand now. Please! Just a few more minutes. I want to learn the truth! AL! AL! Give him back, damn you! He's the only brother I have, give him back!

The novel slipped, unnoticed to the floor as Amelia learned forward. She was listening so hard, she didn't realize her lips were slightly parted and she was halfway out of the chair. Edward's lips were still moving, but he now spoke so softly Amelia could catch only snatches of words. She slipped completely off the chair and sat on the edge of his bed, then leant down closer until they were almost nose to nose. Warm air puffed from his mouth and ticked her throat as he muttered.

What is he saying?

"Winry," Colonel Elric murmuered quietly, "I love you." He moaned softly just before his metal fingers dove into Amelia's hair. Then a startled "mmph!" was all she could utter when the sleeping Edward began to kiss her passionately.

And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, just the OCs I've created for this story. I just like to play around in this world and annoy the canon characters for awhile.

Warning: Some chapters contain violence, bad language, and movie spoilers. Rated for violence,yelling, and description of near-rape.

Beta: Jedimasterwithapen

Chapter 31: In which Edward meets a man from his past, and a woman named Mathilde spins an improbable tale.

Konig Dance Hall, Cologne, Germany. October, 1924

Two weekends after his dance hall "debut", Edward was dancing a Viennese waltz with the Baron von Rentinburg when he saw the very man he'd been seeking for almost a year:

Huskisson

He wore this world's clothing styles, and his face was bare of that ridiculous mask, but Edward recognized him almost instantly. The Baron noticed Edward's attention had wandered and he frowned with concern, "Edward? What is the matter?"

"Baron, that man over there," they made another series of graceful turns, Edward's feet automatically keeping pace. "I met him once, years ago." With each turn, Edward swiveled his head so he could keep Huskisson in sight.

"You mean the Count de Saint-Germain?" The Baron's frown deepened, making the puckered scar on his face look even more livid. "He showed up, oh, four years ago in Berlin. The Count isn't interested in dancing, so I don't really know why he comes here. Maybe it's just to look down his nose at people. He claims to be a pure scientist, but I think he's really just a snob."

Edward grinned evilly to himself. Count de Saint-Germain, huh? Back in Amestris, Huskisson had looked down upon alchemists, but in this world he had taken the name of an infamous charlatan who had posed as an alchemist. What delicious irony.

"I need to speak with him." Edward kept swiveling his head to keep Huskisson in sight. His heart was pounding harder, and he was afraid the rogue scientist would disappear if he didn't keep him in view. "We have some unfinished business. Would you please introduce us once the dance is over?"

"Since you put it so nicely, Edward," the Baron rearranged his face into a smile, but his eyes still looked doubtful. "Yes, I shall do as you ask."

After the final notes of the waltz faded away, the Baron linked arms with Edward and led him over to the Count, who slouched aesthetically against a wall near a motley collection of wall flowers and other non-dancers. As von Rentinburg had feared, the Count narrowed his eyes and sneered when he noticed them approaching. Then he turned his back in a cold and deliberate snub.

The Baron didn't allow the motion to intimidate him, although one eyebrow was twitching with anger. The Count swiveled to his left and spoke over his shoulder, "I've seen and dismissed you as unimportant, you may leave now."

But Edward stepped forward just then and he flashed Huskisson a dazzling smile. "Hallo, Huskisson, do you remember me?" Edward's smile broadened to show even more of his sharp white teeth when the older Amestrian's face turned ashen. "We have to talk, so let's take a little walk outside."

"What are you doing here?" Huskisson hissed,a new note of fear in his voice which the Baron picked up. Saint-Germain was afraid of Edward for some reason. "I don't have it, anymore!"

"I know that, I saw the picture of those people with it," Edward pitched his voice just high enough for Huskisson to hear him over the blare of music. "I just want to know how you managed to lose a uranium bomb."

Something deep inside was telling him not to trust de Saint-German,and the Baron stepped closer to his young friend. But Edward turned back towards him and beamed a cheerful smile in his direction, "It's all right, Baron. Go have yourself a glass of punch and relax. I don't think our little chat will take long."

He turned his gaze back towards Huskisson "There is a little private terrace just outside that door," Edward pointed at a plain wooden one set into the wall a few yards away. "We can talk there without being overheard. You will tell me where I can find it, because I'm not going to leave you alone until you do. So let's go outside and get this over with."

As Edward grabbed the reluctant Huskisson by his right sleeve and propelled him out the door and down a short corridor, he felt strangely savage inside. Knowing Huskisson and his damn bomb fell into German hands was the main reason he returned to this world. Barely had the pair exited an outer door and stepped out into the cool night air on the terrace did Edward whirl Huskisson around and slam him against the wall.

"Damn you, Huskisson! If it wasn't for you and your stupid bomb, I would have stayed in Amestris! I wouldn't have come back here after we beat off the Thule invasion, and my little brother wouldn't have followed me here! You and your stupid pride has put two worlds at risk!" He finished with an angry growl. "Never thought of that, did you?!"

Now it was Huskisson's turn to glare. "PRIDE!!" He yelped in outrage."You want to talk pride, little man?!" Sparks flew from Edward's golden eyes, but Huskisson didn't let him get a word in edgewise.

"Because of the pride of you damn alchemists, scientists like me were treated like vermin in Amestris! I offered the military a powerful new weapon on a silver platter, and you turned your nose up like I'd presented you with a pile of turds! The uranium bomb represents the warfare of the future, and that is why you rejected it.Because you were AFRAID! Afraid I would expose just how pitiful your precious alchemy is. A little bird told me it doesn't work in this world." Huskisson poked one finger hard into Edward's chest. "So how", poke "does", poke"it feel to, poke"be the helpless",pokeone? To be, poke useless?"

With each poke, Huskisson drove Edward back a step until his back touched a decorative metal railing,and the older man pressed his advantage until his sneering face was nose to nose with Edward's angry one. "You are nothing here, you stupid alchemist, NOTHING! And best of all, you can't do a damn thing about it!"

Edward gulped hard and he tried to swallow his anger, he needed to know where the bomb was. Huskisson was right, without alchemy he was helpless...

No! Dammit! I may not be the Fullmetal Alchemist here,but I'm NOT helpless, I'm NOT useless! His mind screamed. I can still destroy that bomb, because if that is the warfare of the future, BOTH our worlds are still in danger!

"You're wrong, Huskisson," he said softly.

"What's that, boy?" Huskisson's dark eyes glittered with triumph,or maybe just madness. Edward couldn't tell. "I don't hear you admitting the truth. And the truth is..."

"You're wrong!" Edward shouted,his conviction growing. He pushed himself upright off the railing and took a step forward, forcing Huskisson to step back. "Look at how many people died to mine your uranium! The ends didn't justify the means to bring about your precious future of warfare!"

"What about all the innocent people who died in the Ishbalan rebellion!" Huskisson screamed at full volume. "Your Fuhrer kept Amestris in a constant state of war for over thirty years! Where was your concern for human life then?!"

"I had nothing to do with that! Edward bellowed louder,their "talk" was turning into a shouting match. "The Fuhrer was part of a conspiracy that began before I was even born! A conspiracy to create a Philosopher's Stone using the human souls from deaths in the wars; but I put a stop to the master of the homunculi; and Colonel Mustang destroyed the Fuhrer."

The volume of their yelling had become so loud; neither of them noticed the man watching them from the shelter of some evergreen bushes.

Alchemists? Amestris? It all went over the head of Rufus McCord, but his ears pricked up at uranium bomb. He was very glad he'd chosen this terrace for a private smoke of his marijuana cigarette. If he could just manage to overhear the location of this device, he would have some valuable information to sell to the right party.

"Where is it, Huskisson?" Edward demanded. "I need to know,so Al and I can destroy it!"

"You stupid boy!" Huskisson's lips drew back in a feral snarl of his own. "You can't just destroy a uranium bomb, it would explode! How would you contain the energy it releases? If that bomb went off, it would instantly kill everyone within a one hundred yard radius. The radiation it releases will spread for hundreds, no thousands of miles and sicken every person it touches. The lucky ones will die quickly, and the rest..."

Huskisson spread out his hands,cocked his head, and smiled wickedly at Edward. "Thousands, perhaps millions of souls to fuel alchemic reactions back in our world. Are you prepared to take on the responsibility for all those deaths?"

The two men were silent for a few heartbeats, except for their angry panting. Edward slumped against the railing, his mind racing in vain search for a retort to Huskisson's admission. But the older man beat him to it:

"I have nothing further to say to you," Huskisson curled his lip again in a sneer, or a snarl, Edward couldn't tell in the dim moonlight. "But I can assure it's safely hidden where no one can find it. So you see,even a mere scientist can do something right."

He made a half turn towards the door, but paused and added, "It's won't be a good idea for you to approach me again. It might make other people suspicious. Good evening!"

Huskisson finished his turn and stalked straight towards the door, wrenched it open, and walked through before he slammed it shut very hard behind him. Flummoxed at not getting the last word in, Edward just stared at the closed door. I should be relieved the bomb is hidden, he told himself. But why am I still so tense?

Rufus McCord couldn't believe his luck. First, he had chanced upon some potentially lucrative information,and now that pretty boy he'd fantasized about was within reach. And his back was to him. For all his bulk, McCord could move very quietly. He was up the stone steps to the terrace in a few strides. His quarry was banging on the iron railing with his right fist while he softly muttered something over and over. A light breeze had picked up and it skittered dry leaves about like bones rattling, a perfect cover for his approach.

Just before he grabbed Edward, Rufus noticed the top railing was dented by the boy's hand, but he paused only briefly before he covered the final feet in two or three strides.

Rufus clapped his left hand over Edward's mouth, and as he had expected, his prize began to struggle and make angry noises. But he was prepared for that.

"Shhh,"he whispered, with whiskey soaked breath."You're so tense, just relax."

The clever fingers of his right hand located vital pressure points on Edward's neck and pushed them. The boy went rigid for a moment before he became limp,and Rufus kept his fingers in place for a few more seconds. Edward was unconscious and he would stay that way for a good hour. More than enough for Rufus to complete his seduction.

Now then,Rufus thought as he turned Edward in order to hoist him over his shoulder. Where shall I do it? He chuckled to himself while he lurched back down the steps and wove between the bushes. It took a bit of searching, but he found a groundkeeper's tool shed hunkered down between two towering pine trees. He had to set Edward down in order to pick the lock, but the hardware yielded quickly. Rufus thought at first he would have to do it on the floor, but a work table in the middle of the shed looked to be the perfect height.

He set Edward face up on a bench set next to the table,stepped back and sucked in his breath. Gods! He's beautiful! Moonlight slanting in through a small window made Edward's face and hair look paler than they really were. Rufus's hungry eyes trailed down to his perfect throat, which rose from the open collar of a snowy white dress shirt.The front was plain with deep but unadorned pleats. Good choice that. Ruffles would have been too much.

Over the shirt was a black satin waistcoat,and that was topped with a short waisted, tailed coat in a rich shade of midnight blue. For contrast, the collar and lapels of the tail coat were faced with black satin; the pants were of a matching color, their only decoration being thin black satin stripes down the outside seam of each leg. On Edward's feet were black leather shoes with flexible soles, made for dancing. White silk gloves hid his hands. Rufus fingered the coat. Top grade long-combed cotton, beautifully cut and perfectly tailored to fit Edward's shape. The colors were an exquisite counterpoint to the younger man's creamy complexion, blond hair, and golden eyes.

And he's mine, all mine!


Near Oxford, January, 1926

The morning post-breakfast meeting with the Viscount was pure torture for Edward and he had to fight to concentrate on his employer's every word.

At least he had progress to report.

"Rupert is doing very well with History and he is finally getting the hang of Philosophy, and Economics,"Edward reddened and rubbed the back of his head."But he's still struggling with Trigonometry and Physics.Yet, I'm not worried because he's really been applying himself."

"So, Smith-Jones, I want your honest opinion," the Viscount responded in his deep rumble. "Does Rupert have a chance of squeaking by next month?"

"Oh, I think he'll do better than that. I think Rupert will be more like the middle of the pack," Edward chuckled mildlly. "He's quite determined because he knows it's his final chance to get into university."

Edward suspected the real burr under Rupert's saddle was the age difference. The heir to Burnlae was embarrassed to be tutored by someone a year younger and four inches shorter. His previous tutors had all been middle aged, tall men used to looming threateningly over the young men or boys they instructed. Edward couldn't have "loomed" if his life depended on it. Not that he was going to tell the Viscount that.Better to let him think his son finally realized his future was at stake.

Fortunately, Edward completed the final lesson plan last week and he opened the spiral bound notebook to show the Viscount. "I'll stick to basic overviews of Grammar, History, and Latin because Rupert will just need a little polishing before the examination. We'll continue to work on Philosophy and Economics, so he doesn't get "rusty".

"Yet you can see by the plan I've sketched out, we will bear down intensely on Trigonometry and Physics. Along with basic Maths, these subjects will comprise a good twenty percent of the examination questions."

The Viscount looked at the plans and said little, except for the odd "Uh-hmm", accompanied by a nod of understanding. Edward would sneak a glance at the older man's face very now and again but Viscount Burnlae cultivated what is called a poker face. So Edward couldn't tell if he was utterly clueless, or just pretending.

Edward stepped back and folded his hands in front of himself when he had finished speaking and waited. The Viscount looked over the lesson plans one more time before he flipped the notebook closed and handed it back to Edward.

And then-he smiled. The Viscount rarely smiled at his servants, other people's servants or anyone else lower in social status. It was a sure sign he was pleased with this tutor's performance. "You've done a tremendous job, Smith-Jones. Of course, the university exam will be the acid test, but whatever the outcome, I will give you top marks for your hard work."

The Viscount paused and looked at his watch. "It's almost nine a.m. Rupert will have finished his breakfast and headed upstairs to the school room. So, I will leave you to it. Good morning!"

That was the Viscount's signal the meeting was over. Edward bowed and took two steps back before he spun on one heel and went to the study door. He opened it and passed over the threshold. He was on the verge of closing the door when the Viscount cleared his throat.

Edward froze.

"Smith-Jones, another moment of your time, please?"

Ten minutes later, Edward was hard at work, drilling Rupert on his Latin verb forms. His plan from now until February was to start his student out on a subject he'd mastered, like Latin, then work on something he was having trouble with. Mixing hard and easy subjects would prevent Rupert from becoming discouraged. Edward leaned back on the battered old wooden table which served as his "desk" and nodded in time with the cadence of Rupert's speech.

The twenty year old Rupert James William Vincent Burnlae was the stereotypical young British male: tall, handsome, intelligent (more or less), sandy haired and square jawed. His physical attributes were embellished with great lashings of charm, plus a healthy sense of humor,and a near total absence of snobbishness. He'd never been serious about anything in his life and the first time Edward had seen him, Rupert had a volume of 'Boys Own Adventure Stories' clutched in one hand.

Rupert was a daydreamer and would have been more than happy to be exploring dusty Egyptian tombs, fighting his way through a dark South American jungle, or battling pirates off the coast of China.

But the closest he would get to adventure would be four arduous years at Oxford. Unless he failed the entrance examination in March. Then he would be shipped off to South Africa to oversee the family business holdings.

He finished reciting the verb forms and Edward praised him, "Well, it sounds like you can conjugate verbs in your sleep by now."

Two red spots appeared high in Rupert's cheeks and Edward continued, "But, let's try something a little more challenging. Please open your Economics text book to page one-hundred and twelve."

Rupert rolled his eyes and groaned, "Can't we go back to Latin?"

By lunch time, the pair covered Latin, Economics, Grammar, and Physics. A pretty house maid brought them sandwiches and coffee, plus some sour cream tarts for afters. While they ate, Rupert slouched in his hard wooden chair, and Edward sat on top of the table, his legs dangling. It bothered Edward slightly he couldn't quite touch the floor, but he was satisfied with knowing he was growing a bit. He could point his feet downwards and touch the floor with his toes, but only when no one was looking.

Rupert was down to the last bites of his roast beef and onion sandwich, spread with creamy horseradish when he paused and asked, "Say, Smith-Jones, if we finish this before tea time, can we spar in the back garden again?"

Edward's mouth was full of his sandwich,roast turkey and tomato, topped with mustard, but he shifted the half-chewed mass of food to one side of his mouth and replied in the affirmative. He'd pushed his worry about the Drachmans to the back of his mind, but it was hard going. Raising a good sweat from sparring would be just what he needed to clear his mind and come up with a new plan. But maybe he wouldn't need one. He lived in a house full of people.It's not as if Mathun would be able to snatch him and Alphonse out from under the noses of a small army of servants.

The Viscount grilled him halfheartedly about the letter he'd received, but Edward succeeded in convincing him it was nothing. Just some village tough jealous over a girl's affections, thought he could intimidate him. Edward thought he had convinced him, but a thought niggled beneath his worry the older man wasn't completely snowed.

From the large windows of the school room where generations of Burnlae children had been taught their alphabet and numbers, Edward could just see to the far end of the grounds. Behind a screen of bushes was the back garden, actually a small parcel of lawn, sunken below the level of the flower garden which abutted.It hadn't been a garden for some fifty years, but it retained the name.

It was screened from the more formal gardens by a dense evergreen hedge and here he and Alphonse had found a secret place to spar, work off excess energy and stay fit. The brothers were curious about the estate. After Al came home from school and changed into some old clothes, they would take a stroll and explore the grounds; brothers reconnecting after a day apart. They discovered the old garden by accident one day and Alphonse first realized it's potential. He tested it by punching Edward's left shoulder.

Edward promptly retaliated by grabbing the offending arm and flipping Alphonse backward through the air. Ten minutes later, they lay on their backs in the soft grass, heads touching while they panted happily.

"That was fun!" gasped Alphonse.

"Yeah," Edward drawled in reply, "I'd didn't realize how much I missed sparring."

Weather permitting they sparred every day, except for Sunday.Sunday was "the Lord's Day" and they had to go with the other servants to an ancient, white washed stone church in the village of Burnlae Halt. The brothers would sit silently in a rear pew and pretend to pay attention to the sermons,which were deathly dull. One of these days, the earnest young vicar who had been granted the "living" only a few years ago was going to bore someone to death. Well, that's what Simpkins predicted,and Alphonse had to put his hands over his mouth to keep back a bubble of laughter every time he thought of it.

One bright day in December, Rupert went looking for his spare cricket gear;but the pieces weren't in the game room where he'd thought he'd put them. After Lincoln informed him the Smith-Jones brothers had a pair of shin guards and gauntlets in their possession, he'd gone out looking for the two.

He was wandering, frustrated through the bottom flower garden when he heard the sounds of running feet, colliding bodies,and heavy breathing. He crept closer to the hedge and was surprised to see his tutor first go rolling past a gap in the greenery, then come flashing back in a dead run.

Alphonse was wearing the cricket gear, to protect his limbs, hands and feet from bruises caused by connecting with Edward's automail. It hadn't been a problem when he had been just a soul attached to a suit of armor, but a strike from him against Edward's right arm caused him to yelp with pain. He had a nasty bruise the next day and he had to hit the automail limbs gently for a while.

Until Edward, curious about the warren of back rooms in the mansion had found the dusty and apparently discarded shin guards and gauntlets. They worked like a charm and the Elric's sparring was just like the old days again: knock-down and drag-out.

The brothers froze in place when Rupert cleared his throat with a loud "AHEM!". Both of them looked so horrified, he nearly burst out laughing. Fortunately, he was more curious than cross. Alphonse was making an inspired use of the cricket gear, although it was Edward's prosthetic limbs which astonished him. So he made a deal with them. He would keep their secret, if they let him join in on their daily sparring matches.

They agreed, and met the next afternoon in the back garden. Afraid of injuring the heir to Burnlae House, the brothers went easy on him at first. But Rupert was a strong young man, fond of sport and ready for anything. He soon got more than he could handle. Edward was fast as lightning and his little brother knew quick moves Rupert had never seen before. He was going to miss sparring and the Smith-Jones brothers once he passed the university examination.

It was back to work once the lunch break was over: Philosophy, British History, Trigonometry, and British Poltics. Rupert had a natural gift of gab and he thought after completing his four years at Oxford, he would like"a spot of messing about in Parliament". The local seat would be open by the time he graduated, and it was a "safe" Conservative one.

He was telling Smith-Jones he wanted to do this for himself not jut to please his parents when the school room clock struck the quarter hour after three p.m. Rupert wondered where Alphonse was, the school bus should be back at Burnlae House by now.

Quick footsteps came pounding up the uncarpeted back stairs leading to the floor the school room was on, one story below the servant's quarters. But it was Lincoln, not Alphonse who burst into the room.

"Lincoln?" Edward asked first in concern, then with growing alarm when he noticed the frightened look on the boy's face. "Lincoln,what happened? Where's Al?"

It took the boot boy a few minutes to get enough breath back to speak, "Aw, Master Rupert! Mr. Edward! Somethin' horrid has happened! We were on our way back from the village and just before we made the last bend before the gates, we sawr a flash black motor right in front of the bus!" (Translation: a fancy black car was blocking the road.)

Rupert sank to his knees in front of Lincoln and gently held the shoulders of the trembling boy. But he didn't interrupt, not even to ask the obvious question: What happened next?

"Two whacking great men got out of the car and just shoved their way on to the bus. We was all terrified, but Al seemed the most scared. He opened a winder and jumped out, just before they could grab him. He scarpered off into Burnlae Park, and those two men just turned about and walked back off the bus. They got into the car, pulled it out of the way and just drove off. It were very queer, I tells ya!"

"Al." Edward had gotten off the table and he stood there, frozen. Mathun and his gang were making their move. That meant he had to act-FAST-to foil their kidnapping plans. "Master Rupert, will you excuse me please? I must go and find Al. He's probably scared out of his wits."

It ocurred to Rupert this was like one of those adventure stories he loved to read. He stood up and put one hand on Edward's right shoulder, which shook with suppresed emotion. "I'll go with you! I've played in the park since I was little, and I know it like the back of my hand. We'll find Alphonse."

He looked down at the boot boy. "Lincoln, will you round up Simpkins and the others, please? We need to form a search party."

Lincoln looked briefly astonished at the word "please" coming from Master Rupert's lips, and then he whirled and bolted out of the room and down the back stairs,all the way down to the kitchens.

Almost immediately afterwards, the Viscount, and the village constable were startled to hear footsteps pounding down the front stairs. The Viscount was astonished to see his son's tutor come hurtling down the steps, and then his son right on the younger man's heels. Smith-Jones threw open the front door and virtually flew outside, but Rupert paused briefly to say, "Sorry, Dad, rescue mission, important work, ta-ta!"

Edward had paused only long enough to run up to his and Alphonse's room and grab his coat. Now he pounded down the driveway towards the park, fear for Alphonse lending wings to his feet. He had to find him before Mathun and his gang did.

If there is trouble, find someplace to hide...I'll meet you at four o'clock at the place we agreed on.


Konig Dance Hall, Cologne, Germany, October 1924

Rufus's breathing quickened as his undid the button at the waistband and unzipped Edward's dress pants. He pushed them down to the younger man's ankles, then stopped and stared in astonishment at Edward's left leg. "Extraordinary!"

He gently tugged on the metal and Edward groaned quietly,so Rufus stopped, his heart in his mouth. But the blonde didn't come to and Rufus blew a loud sigh of relief. Maybe he would keep Edward with him for awhile, someone out there would surely jump at the chance to acquire him and that amazing prosthetic leg. For a pretty penny too.

There was one empty cell left in the hidden room of Rufus's house in Berlin from which he ran his human trafficking enterprise. Edward Bauer would be a rare find, a change of pace from his usual stock of war orphans and Gypsy boys. And he would partially assuage the sting of his failure to acquire Pferd. The purple pipsqueak had eyes in the back of his head and sneaking up on him was so far impossible.

Rufus flipped the unconscious Edward over and his groin muscles tightened causing him to grunt with pain. He unfastened his own pants, and then hesitated. Perhaps he shouldn't use Edward. If left a virgin he would command a much higher price. The door of the shed creaked, and Rufus looked back sharply, but the entrance was empty. It's just the wind, he told himself.

He put one hand on Edward's light blue boxers and pulled them partway down. He grunted again as his arousal stiffened. There was a very prominent bulge in the front of his own pants,the tip peaking out the gap in his boxers. Rufus had desired Edward from the first instant he saw him, and it was so unfair to finally have this delectable little morsel in his grasp, then deny himself the pleasure of tasting it.

If only once.

"Dammit, I shall have him now," Rufus whispered quietly. He pulled Edward's boxers all the way down to his ankles, then stepped back and spat on his fingers. Rufus rubbed the spittle around before he reached forward to push his slick fingers inside...

"SCHWIENHUNDT!" A voice bellowed and a shadow fell across Rufus. He whirled around just in time to receive a heavy blow right in the face. A loud crack signaled some of his teeth breaking, and blood sprayed from his nose to spatter the walls, floor, Rufus, and his attacker. Then the big man crashed to the floor with a thud which shook the shed.


"Ungh..."

Edward groaned when he slowly opened his eyes, then grunted and shut them again against the sunlight streaming across his face. After a moment, he re-opened them but only to slits to regard the ceiling. It was a beautiful example of baroque style plasterwork, although yellowed by time and smoke.

"Where am I?" he said to no one in particular. Only dust motes whirled in the sunlight to hear the question. Edward tried to think back. He was still outside, lamenting his ham-fisted handling of Huskission when someone had clapped a hand over his mouth, and then pressed fingers to the side of his neck. His body iced when he remembered a despised voice whispering in his ear.

McCord. What did that bastard do to me?

He shifted his gaze to the left, right,then forward. He couldn't see much except large, dark pieces of exquisitely carved furniture, and a smooth mound of blankets. Edward was lying on his back and tucked in to a cocoon of warmth. But now he began to sweat with trepedation when the door opened and soft footsteps crossed the floor to the bed he lay in.

Edward turned his head to his left and was surprised when the Baron von Rentinburg entered his field of view. At least he thought it was the Baron. The scar and the monocle were still there, but the oil had been washed out of the short hair, so it looked fluffy and soft. And the uniform had been replaced by a light blue dressing gown over a dusky pink negligee, its neckline low enough Edward could see the Baron had - breasts.

Baroness?

"Edward? How are you feeling?" the voice was the same, clear and crisp one used to issuing commands, if a bit softer. Feeling ever more confused, Edward cocked his head on the overstuffed pillow and stared.

A memory swam to the surface of his mind: "Edward, this is the Baron von Rentinburg. She's rather eccentric, but completely harmless."

The door opened and closed again as another pair of footsteps, lighter in tread, crossed the floor. The Baron turned and addressed the newcomer, "Hallo, Klaus. He's awake, but not talking. I'm afraid McCord might have broken him."

A hand grabbed Edward's left foot and shook it, while a voice happily samg out, "Wakey, wakey! Toast and cakey!" Edward growled in response and yanked the foot away. He raised his head and scowled at the far too cheery countenance of a boy with long black hair tied into a low ponytail.

It took him another few beats to recognize Pferd. Without his makeup on, he looked like a child dressed in just a simple woolen nightshirt. A purple nightshirt to be sure, but miles away from the gaudy suits he favored.

Pfered/Klaus ignored Edward's death glare and threw a dazzling smile at him. "Look at that face!" he cheerily informed the Baron. "If he's cranky, that means he'll be just fine." He looked back at Edward and asked, "Are you hungry?"

Edward had wanted to snap, 'No, I'm not hungry! What I want are some answers!' But his stomach responded to Klaus's question with a loud grumble.

To his annoyance, both Klaus and von Rentinburg laughed at the sound. "Stop laughing, dammit! For how long have you two been making a fool of me?!"

Von Rentinburg's face sobered instantly although she couldn't quite keep the chuckle out of her voice. "I'm sorry, Edward. It wasn't my intent to make a fool of you in particular. But I've been fooling the whole world for a long time."

"Why did you do it?" Edward felt a tiny tug of curiosity despite his anger. "I mean, why go to all this trouble? For starters, you have to bind your breasts,and hide your- curves, and..." he trailed off, suddenly embarressed by his rudeness.

"I hide my womanly curves by wrapping a band of material around my waist," the Baron didn't seem perturbed by Edward's probing question, indeed, there seemed to be palpable sense of relief she no longer had to 'pretend' around him. "The rest was merely a matter of training and self- discipline."

"As to why," she pitched her voice even more softly and Edward heard a whisper of the original tone. "It was to survive, Edward. My full name is Mathilde Louise Katerina Beatrice von Rentinburg, and I was the oldest daughter of the ninth Baron von Rentinburg. Because I was a tall girl, all arms and legs, I wasn't very graceful. Plus the things girls were supposed to like-tea parties, dolls, shopping-bored me.

My father let me learn things girls weren't usually allowed to learn: marksmanship, sword play, education in mathematics and the classic languages, and horsemanship. But under the Salic laws of Germany, girls are not allowed to inherit the title of "Baron". Despite my proficiency, I was deemed less worthy than my two younger brothers."

Edward kept his gaze on Mathilde's face, but he couldn't detect any trace of dissembling in her eyes. He stayed silent and let her continue with her story.

"In the summer of my twelveth year my family went to our summer house in the foothills of the Alps, hard by the Swiss border. Father stayed behind in Berlin because he had to work during the week, but he would join us for the weekend.

I had a bad sore throat on one Friday he was to arrive, so I stayed in bed when mother, my brothers, and some of the family servants went to pick him up from the train station in the village below. But there was an accident on the way down the mountain..."

Edward's throat went dry, "What kind of accident?"

Mathilde shrugged, "Oh, spooked horses, overturned carriage, a rushing river. Only the driver's body was ever found, and that was weeks later. At nightfall, I woke up alone in the house."

"Wait a minute," Edward held up one hand, he vaguely noted it was his automail one. "Did all the servants go?"

"My mother brought her personal ladies maid, plus one parlor maid with us from Berlin. The rest-the cook, two other parlor maids, the scullery maid- they were all "seasonals" from the village. And they had worked for another family last summer. So they were total strangers to me. There were some outdoor servants-gardeners, and stablemen who worked for us year after year-but only Father dealt with them."

"Everyone you knew was dead," Edward said in a flat voice, then swallowed. "That must have been terrible."

Mathilde ducked her head, but Edward could see her eyelashes sparkling with unshed diamond-like tears. Time can only dull the pain of losing family members, but it never faded away completely. At odd moments, a person could be ambushed by any little thing: a scent, a sound, a picture, or simply remembering an incident.

"My father hired a station gig to bring him to the house and along the way, they found the accident scene. He returned to town and informed the authorities, so it wasn't after midnight that he arrived at the house. I heard the gig arrive, and I met him at the door. I remember him turning white as a sheet when he saw me. For the last time in my life, I burst into tears and sobbed on his chest when he told me what happened.

Neither of us had any appetite after that, so I returned to bed and he sat up in front of the parlor fire for the rest of the night. When I can down a few hours later-I hardly slept-my father broached an audacious plan."

Edward didn't interrupt, although his stomach did emit another plaintive growl. Klaus got up from the chair he was sitting in. "I'm familiar with the story, so I'll fetch Edward some breakfast. He looks utterly riveted."

The boy tripped to the door, opened it and disappeared but left it ajar.

Mathilde sighed, "There isn't much more to tell. My father's plan involved cutting my hair short and dressing me in the clothes left by my ten year old brother, Hieronymous. He successfully passed me off as him back in Berlin, and as I grew up, I bound my breasts and learned to walk and talk as a man does."

She tilted her head and smiled at Edward, and he was reminded of a friendly bird of prey. "Did you know Edward, that men swagger when they walk?"

Edward blinked at this unexpected question because he'd never considered himself to be a "swaggerer". He supposed Colonel Mustang had swaggered, and he noticed some of the brasher carnies did so too. Did Winry swagger? He frowned to himself. When she was carrying a wrench, and approaching him with a certain 'take-off-your-shirt-so-I-can-tighten-some-bolt-Ed' look in her eye. Yes, he supposed Winry did swagger then.

"Edward?"

He blinked, flinched, and re-focused his eyes. "Sorry, Mathilde," he mumbled.

"I'll make this quick then. Father and I were taking a huge risk to carry out this plan, because discovery would have meant financial and social ruin. Yet he took his secret to the grave. Klaus found out by accident, but he has sworn not to tell. Which leaves you, Edward."

He didn't hesitate to raise his right hand, "I swear I will never give away your secret, not even if I'm tortured."

Mathilde laughed when he finished, a rich bubbling sound which gave Edward a brief glimpse of the girl she used to be.

"As for the scar," Mathildre traced on finger down the puckered flesh. "I received that in a duel while I attended Nuremburg University."

"Tough school."

"Actually," Mathilde's eyebrows arched like cantilevers. "I was dueling over a girl's honor, and fortunately I lost that one. Otherwise, I would have been obligated to marry her. But I did win the other nine duels I participated in." She finished with a dry chuckle.

Edward ventured a question, and he wasn't sure how it would be received. "Did you see action in the Great War?"

Mathilde's eyes darkened with pain again and Edward felt a stab of guilt. "Yes. I commanded an artillery battalion on the Somme. Unlike my fellow officers, I was on the front lines everyday, even in the middle of battle. On several occasions, a shell nearly put me under the front lines. My troops loved me for risking my life like that, and many of them gladly died for their country. Loyalty makes people do strange things sometimes."

"Were you ever wounded?"

"Only once and by a piece of shrapnel that lodged in my right arm. I couldn't let a doctor see me, so I went off to treat myself. In a bombed out farmhouse, I cut my own flesh and pulled the shrapnel out. Then I poured alcohol over the wound and bandaged it. Why it didn't get infected, I'll never know. So many of the war's casualties came not from battle, but relatively minor wounds that went septic."

Edward could tell asking about the war seemed to have woken more painful memories for Mathilde, and he decided not to ask anymore. He still didn't have a complete grasp of the logic -if there was any-of "the war to end all wars". Edward had landed, injured and defenseless in this world when the war was in its last few years.

He'd spent much of that time sick and under a doctor's care. Either in a hospita or in a bed in his father's house. He'd been woken up late one night in November by bells ringing and people shouting outside. Hohenheim told him the bells rang to celebrate the Armistice, the end of the war and to go back to sleep.

Now the world was at peace and times were good economically. Even Germany was starting to emerge from it's post-war depression, but Edward couldn't shake the feeling certain forces were at work, forces which would lead to another war.

The sound of approaching footsteps brought Edward out of his ruminations. They belonged to Klaus who shoved the door open with his shoulder because his hands were occupied in pushing a small white card of delicate filigree metal work. A cart so laden with dishes it was a wonder it hadn't collapsed.

Each dish bore a silver cover to keep the heat in, but Edward could smell eggs, bacon, toast, sausage, biscuits and gravy. A shelf below held a silver coffeepot steam coming from it's spout,. Next to it was a glass pitcher of orange juice with spots of condensation on its surface. Vertical baskets on the side of the cart held plates, saucers, cups, and silverware.

"You expecting company?" Edward's tone was bemused because there was enough china to serve five people. Klaus just grinned in answer as he began to unload the cart onto a square wooden table already spread with a snowy white tablecloth.

"Actually, I am," Mathilde smirked before she raised her voice slightly. "Please come in, won't you?"

The sound of rustling cloth attracted Edward's attention back to the doorway, and an instant later, Noa's head popped into view. Edward's face reddened and he stammered, "N-Noa?"

The gypsy walked gracefully yet suspiciously into the room, her black eyes snapping sparks. Her nostrils flared especially wide when she came eye-to-eye with Mathilde. Noa came to a stop at the foot of the bed put her hands on her hips and gave him a glare which could have flayed the flesh from his bones.

She's jealous!

A moment later, Alphonse echoed the sentiment out loud which earned him a twin of the hard look she'd just given Edward. Two spots of red appeared on his cheeks and he tried to cover his nervousness by jumping on the bed. "This is really comfortable, brother! We were worried when you didn't come home with the others. Shem told us all he knew was you'd 'met with an accident'!"

Al took a deep breath before he continued chattering away, "A farmer going into town gave us a lift and dropped us off at the Konig. None of the cleaning crew knew anything. We were directed from one person to another until this nasty bald man came up and threatened to throw us out."

"That would be Herr Schwartz," Klaus interrupted with a dry sardonic tone. "But he's like that to everyone."

Alphonse looked slightly askance at Klaus and promptly re-took control. "We explained who we were and he softened up-a bit-enough to tell us you had been taken to the Baron von Rentinburg's town house. We left the Konig and were walking into Cologne when this big black car stopped. Klaus was in the passenger seat and he offered us a ride. He's got quite a nice motor, and..."

"It actually belongs to Mathilde here," Klaus interrupted again and Alphonse frowned at his rudeness.

Klaus ignored the pointed look, "I recognized Edward's woman."

Alphonse's mouth formed a round "O" and Edward blushed scarlet. Even Noa's face and throat flushed her skin dark. "She is not 'my woman'", Edward stammered. "She is a good friend."

Edward mentally kicked himself the moment he said it. The words sounded trite and Noa looked a bit hurt.

"And she's a good cook, better than either of us!" Alphonse chimed in the awkward silence.

Edward yanked out one of the pillows behind his head and biffed him with it before retorting, "My cooking isn't that bad!"

Alphonse grabbed the pillow and hit Edward back and that seemed to break the icy atmosphere in the room. Klaus laughed, Mathilde chuckled, and she exchanged a knowing glance with Noa, whose lips curved in the ghost of a smile.

Aren't men silly?

After breakfast, which everyone ate at scattered points around the room -Mathilde and Noa at the table, Klaus at a desk, Edward on the bed with Alphonse next to him -Edward changed into his everyday clothes which he'd left in his locker at the Konig. Klaus had been driven over in Mathilde's 'nice motor' to fetch them and he was on the way back when he picked up Alphonse and Noa.

Mathilde stayed behind to dress and 'put on my mask' while the car was brought 'round again to give Edward, Alphonse, and Noa a ride home. Klause went along and once the car was moving, made a proposition to Edward.

"I have this friend who lost a leg in the war, and..." Klaus stopped at the look on Edward's face. "What?"

"If he wants a prosthesis like this, I'm afraid mine are experimental ones, Klaus."

The boy frowned briefly, as if confused, then burst out, "No, no, no Edward! That's not what I meant at all! Now, let me finish!"

Edward held his hands up in surrender and Klaus gave him a mock glare. "What I'm trying to say is, this friend was crippled in the war and he is having a very hard time finding steady work, even in Berlin. The city is full of ex-soldiers missing a limb or an eye. Perfectly good men who can't get a job because cripples are judged as worthless."

Klaus finished on a bitter note, and Edward nodded in understanding. After the Gate re-took his limbs and sent him back to London, he'd been mistaken for a victim of that night's bombing raid and taken to a hospital.

Hohenheim had found him there and Edward had been presented with a choice after he recovered: go with his father or be sent to an institution for the handicapped. In the end, Edward had chosen his father. As galling as that had been he probably would have died in that other place.

"Earth to Edward!" Klaus sang out gleefully, and Edward came back to his present surroundings with a start.

"Sorry, Klaus. I was just-remembering. What is your friend doing?"

Klaus's narrow chest swelled. "He's starting his own cafe and plans to staff it with only amputees. Not just ex-soldiers, but any one who lost body parts in the war."

"And what do I have to do with this?"

"I think you would fit in very well there, Edward. Mathilde thought so too, and she is bankrolling this project-plus several others-to help Germans pick themselves up by their bootstraps. My friend asked me to keep a lookout for prospective employees. In short, I am offering you a job. You don't have to decide right away, but I am returning to Berlin right after Oktoberfest is over."

Edward's first thought was to say "no" and he opened his mouth. Then he snapped it shut. BERLIN?! The headquarters of the Nazi party was there and many Nazis were members of the Thule Society. It would be utter madness to enter the lion's den.

On the other hand, he, Al and Noa would be hiding in plain sight. Would the Nazis and the Society think to look right under their noses? Huskisson had assured him the bomb was well hidden, they didn't need to search anymore. Al needed a proper roof over his head, last winter had been brutally cold-but-city living would be difficult for Noa. Edward was aware everyone but the driver was looking at him, but his thoughts were whirling so fast he couldn't translate them into speech. He opened his mouth again and snapped it shut just as quickly.

Before he made any decision, he needed to discuss every angle with Al and Noa first. "You said I'd have a little time to think it over? It has to be a decision Al and Noa can live with."

"But of course, Edward," Yet Klaus was looking at Edward like he had sprouted another head. In German society, the oldest male made the decisions. As the younger brother, Alphonse was to do what he was told. Despite Edward's protests, Noa was considered 'his woman' and her obedience was expected.

The car reached the carnival grounds then and Edward turned to Klaus. "Two more weeks until the end of the Oktoberfest Karnival, then we pack up the rides and head for the carnival's winter quarters near Stuttgart. The last day of the carnival is November second.Will you come for my answer then?"

Klaus nodded,and then held out his hand. "This will be 'auf wiedersehn' for now, Edward. I will see you next Saturday at the Konig." He shook hands with Edward and Alphonse, but settled for a slight nod of his head to Noa. He had kicked over most of the traces, but he still stuck to some conventions.

Edward waved until the car was a speck on the road towards Cologne before he turned to his companions. "Don't say anything now, just think abou it. Come up with any pros and cons you can think of. We can discuss them tonight after supper."

Two heads nodded back at him, Noa looked a little confused. In her world, women usually weren't asked for their opinions. Edward spun on one heel and walked away towards higher ground near the river.

He did his best thinking on top of a hill.

A few hours later, Edward couldn't stay still anymore. He paced back and forth, his mind still whirling. Klaus's proposition was a good one but going to Berlin and being so close to the Nazis still bothered him. He stopped and stared blindly at the buildings of Cologne in the distance. Edward could recall the time he utterly loathed this world, wanting nothing more than to return home and hug his little brother to pieces.

When circumstances did lead him back to the alchemic world, he threw it all away to protect his home from further invasions. He wouldn't be granted another chance. This world would be the permanent home of him and Alphonse They would find that damn bomb and neutralize it-somehow. Then they would live the rest of their lives in peace here.

He would never see Amestris, Risembool, Winry, Granny Pinako, Den-not even Colonel Bastard-again. That knowledge hurt, but time would lessen the pain. If not exactly happy, they would be content.

That was one decision made. A little of the pressure on his soul eased.

Edward heard soft footsteps approaching from behind him and he swallowed hard before he made another choice. He eased the glove off his left hand, finger by finger, before stuffing the cloth into the right pocket of his coat. Then he held the bare hand out to his side, palm facing upwards.

And he waited.

After only a moment which seemed like an eternity a small and soft, but slightly callused hand slid into his. Fingers curled and clasped. He turned his head and smiled warmly before he pulled Noa closer and bent down to kiss her.

Then, hand in hand they walked together down the hill towards Cologne.

They returned to the carnival grounds at dusk, Noa was re-adjusting her clothing and brushing leaves out of her hair when Edward's coat settled around her shoulders. She looked up in surprise to see the gentle smile which reached his golden eyes. "You looked cold."

"I'm fine."

"Then why are you arms all goosepimply?"

Noa shivered for real. She'd agreed with Edward and they'd made a decision together. But the enormity of it-not the chilly air-is what made her shiver.

Alphonse called "Brother!" and Edward murmured something she didn't quite catch before he walked away. The other women descended on Noa the minute he was out of earshot. All of them gave her sharp looks from bright eyes.

Because they knew instantly.

"You laid with that ganji!"

"Yes, I did."

"Will you have the baby he put in you?"

"Yes, I will."

"What if he leaves you before it is born?"

"He will stay."

"He has wandered far from his home, he will wander again."

"We will wander together then. Him and I, his brother, and our child. He is like a Gypsy that way."

"He is a ganji. He can never be Roma. Your child will be a didicoy and both worlds will reject him."

"NO! He loves me, and he will love the child too. I saw his love,shining in the darkness. Blood doesn't concern him, because he is different from the other ganji. You will see!"

Noa put her chin up and stared defiantly back at the other women, who put their hands on their hips and gave her pitying looks. Most of them weren't married-by either Roma or ganji custom-but had borne several children. Who were they to disparage her newly conceived child as a didicoy, a half-breed?

Noa was only nineteen, and she was sure she knew-everything.

She'd seen flashes of things, some very frightening, in Edward's mind when he kissed her. Images of people and places flashed while they made love on a bed of fallen leaves in a patch of woods. Including an image of a pretty girl with blue eyes and long blonde hair, But Edward had cried out her name-Noa-when he clutched her hips and finished.

She had held his left arm while they walked back to the carnival and Edward's thoughts were mostly a grey mist only briefly interrupted by flashes of strange images. She didn't see the blonde girl again.

Noa whirled on one heel and walked swiftly away, straight-backed with wounded pride. She was sure Edward was hers. But she wasn't gong to give the other women the satisfaction of knowing their words had shaken her.

He can never be Roma.


Near Oxford,January 1926

Edward slewed to a stop on the slippery estate road. He panted and looked around at the darkened park all about him.

Where is Al?

Soon after he went charging out the front door of Burnlae House, his first stop had been their agreed upon rendezvous-a summer house in a clearin- roughly half a mile from the main house. But the door was still locked. Edward walked all around and looked between the slats of the louvered sides. But all he could see were the white shapes of shrouded wicker furniture put away for the winter.

He called Al's name just in case he was hiding, either in there or in the crawl space underneath the floor boards. But there was no answer.

Edward retraced his steps to the main road through the estate where he found Rupert addressing a small assembly of estate workers.

"Alphonse could be anywhere on the grounds, he's terrified and likely cold and hungry as well. If you find him, give a blast on this," Rupert held up a silver whistle attached to a white cord. "Then head straight for the main house. Cook will have sandwiches and hot soup ready."

He handed round a cardboard box and each of the dozen or so men took a whistle. The box ended up in front of Edward. With a bemused smile, he took the final remaining whistle and blew gently into one end before he slipped it into a coat pocket.

"Right!" Rupert called for attention before unfolded a small map of the estate. "The best way to do this is to divide the estate into six quarters and search as thoroughly as we can before it gets too cold. Any preferences?"

One of the men held up his hand. Edward didn't recognize him, but he wasn't at all familiar with any of the outside servants. This man told Rupert he would take the wooded area to the south, and the question of assigning searchers took less time than Edward expected.

It wasn't long before he and Rupert were alone. "This will be our search area, Edward, from the road due west to the ha-ha."

Edward just nodded. He was sick with fear over Alphonse and could barely restrain himself.

An hour of intense searching later the pair came to the 'ha-ha', a broad sunken ditch designed to keep the Burnlae deer herd within the grounds of the estate and away from farmer's fields.

Even in daylight it was an ominous place. At night, it would be a nasty fall for the unwary. It was very dark under the trees and Rupert had lit the two lanterns he had brought half an hour ago, then he handed one to Edward.

They parted company at the edge of the ha-ha and walked along in opposite directions, lanterns held high to illuminate the bottom of the ditch. If Al had blundered over the side in his panic-stricken flight, he could have broken bones, maybe even been knocked unconscious by the impact of a fall. He would be helpless,and unable to call to the searchers. Edward quickly lost track of time while he closely scanned the ground, heart in his mouth, but he had come up empty so far.

A church bell rang in the village of Burnlae Halt and Edward counted five strokes. He stood straighter and massaged his aching back, gradually becoming aware the air had gotten quite cold. His breath puffed in the air, and his left hand was numb with the chill.

Edward spun slowly in a circle, and realized he was quite alone. It was very quiet except for the wind soughing high in the treetops. If there were any wild animals about, the noise had he'd made crashing about in the underbrush had probably scared them away. The darkness was pressing in on Edward's eyes and he called out, "Rupert?"

Only his own voice echoed.

And then he heard it.

A single note. Someone had blown his whistle.

Edward marked the direction and he began to walk towards it, slowly at first, then without conscious thought, he started to run. The lantern sputtered and went out, but Edward continued to run. Branches snagged his coat and lashed him across the face, once he tripped and fell hard after a tree root caught his foot.

The fall knocked the wind out of him and the lantern flew from his cold-numbed hand. Edward heard glass tinkle someplace, but no flames erupted because the lantern probably was out of fuel anyway. He lay there and panted for a few minutes before getting slowly to his feet.

He began to walk, then jog, and soon he was running again. Edward finally burst from the trees and raced across a small patch of lawn before he made the estate road again. A bit of snow which melted during the day had refrozen and Edward had to fight to stay on his feet. He finally careered to a stop and merely stood there, gasping for breath as his legs trembled from the exertion.

Where is everyone? he wondered.

Of course! he snapped his fingers, once the whistle sounded all the searchers would have assumed Al was found and returned to the main house for a bite of supper.

The whistle sounded a second time.

Just a single note again, but much closer and Edward knew where it was. He bolted to the opposite side of the road and ran towards the summer house.

He skidded to a stop outside the house a few minutes later. The door was still closed, but now he could see a faint, flickering glow coming from inside. Was Al hurt, or sick? Edward looked around with night-accustomed eyes, but not even they could penetrate deep shadows under the trees. He tried to listen for any sound-the rustle of cloth, the scrape of a shoe, the crunch of a leaf or a twig-over his loud breathing.

Edward realized this could be a trap set by Mathun. But he had to know if Al was in there. Edward tried to move stealthily as he crossed the lawn ringing the summer house and walked up the steps. The knob turned easily in his hand this time, and the door opened quietly on well-oiled hinges.

Tension rushed out to be replaced by relief when he saw Rupert sitting on a wicker couch, it's white cover pulled back. Next to him and head cradled on his lap lay Alphonse. He was asleep, his sides rising and falling with a regular rhythm. Rupert's hand was on Al's left shoulder, as if comforting the frightened boy. The lantern Rupert had carried stood on the floor, its flickering light cast a warm glow over their features and made Rupert appear to move back and forth.

"Rupert?"

Ice suddenly re-formed in the pit of Edward's stomach, the feeling told him something was wrong. He moved closer and saw Rupert's eyes were closed.

"Rupert?"

Edward reached out and jostled his knee then jumped back when Rupert abruptly slumped sideways over Al.

It's a trap!

Everything happened at once. A hand dropped heavily onto Edward's left shoulder and a sharp pain like a bee sting blossomed on the right side of his neck. A sudden plunge into swirling darkness cut off his cry of surprise.


Risembool, Eastern Amestris, July 1918

Winry Rockbell jerked awake with a low-pitched cry. She'd had that dream again. Ed and Al were at the front door of her house, knocking on it and calling to her, asking to be let in. Like the last time, their cries suddenly became frantic, desperate pleas for help.

She would leap out of bed, grab her favorite wrench and run downstairs as fast as she could go. She would be sprinting down the hallway, feet pounding and arms swinging. Her rasping breath sounded loud in her ears as she ran down a hall which seemed to have stretched out to be a million miles long.

Winry finally reached the stairs after the longest run of her life. The Elric brothers were pounding even harder on the door and screaming in terror.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" Winry shouted as loud as she could, but still too softly.

The dream always ended the same way. She finally reached the door, undid the bolts as the panic on the other side reached a fever pitch-but all sound stopped the instant she turned the knob-Winry would still throw the door open with as much force as she could muster.

But they were gone. The front porch was empty, and there was no sign of Ed and Al in the moonlight-washed landscape. The only sound was an owl hooting as if laughing at her.

Then Winry woke up. She sat up in bed and panted as sweat ran down her face and dripped on the sheets. It stung her eyes and she grabbed a handful of the bed clothes to wipe her face. She flopped down on her back after a while then turned over on one side. She dug the fingers of one hand into a pillow and holding it close to her mouth, began to cry.

Author's note #2: Say hello to my beta, Jedimasterwithapen. She has labored hard and long to whip this chapter into shape. But it is going to take a while before I can snatch the pebble from the master's hand.

And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, only the OCs I created for this story. I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the canon characters for awhile.
Author's note: No bashing of Christians is intended.IMHO, 99% of Christians are thoroughly delightful people who would be appalled by the tactics of Sister Janette and her cohorts. These "Christianists" are more in the Hageeist/Parsleyite/Phelpsian mode.
Warning: violence,blood,bad language and abuse of little brothers.
Beta: Took-baggins

Chapter 32: In which Alphonse shows resolve, and Edward gets some answers

Once the last of the sodium pentathol left his system, Alphonse had the sense Sister Janette was disappointed with him. She never came right out and said it directly, yet there was a certain tension behind her eyes and the set of her lips. Alphonse was afraid to ask, thought he dearly wanted to know what, or if she succeeded in wrenching the most closely guarded secrets from his mind.

As comfortable as it was, he was feeling distinctly restless in the cell he occupied. Without sunlight, a clock, or a calendar, he had nothing to mark the passage of time and was having trouble recalling just how long he had been there. Meals were his only clue as to the passage of time. Food was brought three times a day,simple fare like fruit for breakfast, soup (or what passed for it) at lunch, and a sandwich for dinner.

His jailors didn't bring dessert, but Sister Janette always managed tos lip him something extra - a handful of peanuts, a cup of rice pudding, or a piece of chocolate. Alphonse was grateful for the small kindnesses, but he never lost sight of the fact he was a prisoner. Alphonse hadn't liked his experinece as Greed's hostage, and the curtailment of his freedom galled him. He kept his emotions in balance by exercising daily - running in place, doing one hundred pushups and situps - and meditating.

Four years as a soul bound to a suit of armor gave him abundant opportunity to practice the latter skill. Alphonse would sit cross-legged on the floor, clear his mind, and find the center of his being. When he was in the other world with Brother, one of the more esoteric carnies once told him "Om" was the most perfect sound in the universe. He'd shown Alphonse a technique to 'open his chakra', and the boy recognized it as similar to one Teacher had taught them: Suppress all conscious thought, concentrate on breathing, and one could enter a "Zen-like" state.

Well, that was the theory, but Alphonse was haveing a hard time controlling the thoughts flitting like frightened birds inside his skull. It was just his luck the one day he finally succeeded was the same day Sister Janette entered to read to him from her Christian Holy Book.

Alphonse was dep inside himself, he imagined he was floating high above Londonium. He concentrated hard and tried to contact Brother. If he could manage a sort of rudimentary telepathy, maybe...

Suddenly, Alphonse felt his inner self shaking. His concentration was broken, and he began to fall at a terrific speed towards the River Thamar. He plunged into the freezing cold water and woke up, then blinked and sputtered because someone had just tossed a bucket of chilly water into his face. Then his head jerked back when a stinging slap hit his left cheek.

"Alphonse! Wake up!"

"Stop hitting me!" he yelped, his voice hitched up because his heart was still racing. "I'm awake! I'm awake!"

Her eyes wide and face pale, Sister Janette knelt so she was at eye level with him. "Alphonse, what you were doing was very dangerous. Do you realize how much danger you put your immortal soul into?"

His response was to narrow his eyes. Not that again! "You mean meditating?"

She nodded, "Yes, Alphonse. Meditating.

"But, " he was confused now. "When you pray to your God, isn't that a sort of meditating?"

"When we pray, Alphonse, God is in our hearts and our minds. He keeps us on the Path and safe from harm. If you don't do that, you leave yourself open for evil spirits who might wish harm to your soul."

Alphonse sighed. So we're back to that again, are we? He felt Sister Janette was capable of original thought and rational conversation, but their talks invariably came back to her religious beliefs. And she liberally quoted from the Holy Book, as if she were reciting a prepared speech. He couldn't understand how an otherwise normal human being could allow her life and thoughts to be controlled by a words written down thousands of years ago. A book supposedly written by an invisible deity. It defied all logic.

Sister Janette stood up and dusted off her skirt before she offered one small hand to him. "Come, Brother Alphonse. It is time for the daily reading."

He wasn't totally surprised when her sermon concerned the prophet Jesus expelling spirits from a young boy who foolishly attempted alchemy and become possessed. He knew she'd chosen it for just that reason and Alphonse shifted uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair.

"Jesus came upon a village in the hinterlands and began to preach in the middle of the market. He saved many souls and his disciples gathered money and food which he distributed to the poor. He was resting later that day when a woman who was red eyed and weeping approached him.

'My son practices alchemy and been possessed by demons, please help him!"

So Jesus and his disciples accompanied the woman to her home, and they found a boy standing outside a small house, and he was trembling and crying.

'Brother is worse, mother! Now seven demons are inside him, and he refuses to talk to me!'

The mother broke down with fresh tears at the news. She knelt down upon the ground and sobbed. Even the disciples became afraid and Jesus told them to stay outside and comfort the mother and younger son while he went inside to confront the demons."

Janette paused and looked at Alphonse who merely raised one eyebrow. He didn't believe a word of it, but he had to admit whichever stories concerned alchemy piqued his interest.

"Alphonse, may I have some water, please?"

"Of course." He grabbed the metal dipper from the wooden bucket next to his chair and handed it over. She drank demurely, no stray drops rolled down her rounded chin, nor did any slurping noises emenate from her mouth. Janette gave the dipper back and ran one finger down the page. A quiet ah! of satisfaction escaped her lips when she found her place in the book.

"Inside the house was a terrible scene. Blood pooled in the center of one room, it was splashed on the walls and it streaked the skin of a naked boy who's body was covered with black tattoos. He sat in the middle of chalk circle festooned with pagan runes. The walls and ceiling were scribed with more of these circles underneath the blood. A sort of fog writhed just above the floor and the room smelled of a fetid odor.

'All these things are abominations unto the Lord, thy God.' " Jesus scolded the boy."

"A deep voice came from inside the boy, a voice too deep to be his own. 'Silence, foolish mortal! Leave and do not return or I shall smite with the the sword of mine Mother's!' '"

Mine Mother's? Alphonse wondered. The homunculi often referred to the evil woman who protected them as 'Mother'. She was Dante, the alchemy teacher of their teacher, Izumi Curtis. As well as the former lover of his father, Hohenheim.

"Jesus had been afraid, but the Lord sent his courage and he also felt anger. 'Your mother is no match for my Father, the Lord. Now state your names, you foul demons!' "

Janette abruptly stood up as she said this final final line. Her voice had risen, her eye shone and her cheeks were flushed. If she hadn't been acting before, she certainly was now. "And the demons obeyed Jesus and stated their names: Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Greed, Pride, Sloth, and Wrath.""

"And Jesus said, 'You are the seven Deadly Sins and you do not belong in this boy's body, so begone!'"

"The Sins replied, 'We shall not leave and you haven't the power to make us leave!' To show their power, the Sins forced the boy they possessed to leap up and run about the room while roaring like a wild beast. He frothed at the mouth and his eyes rollled in their sockets. Then the Sins made the boy bang his head upon the wall and rend his own flesh until he bled."

"Jesus grew angry at this abuse and he shouted for them to stop, but they would not heed thim. 'Then you give me no choice' he said and he clapped his hands together, knelt down and applied his palms to the dirt floor."

Al sat up and took notice. Jesus had performed alchemy!

"A glowing light enveloped the boy and he stopped abusing himself and his wounds healed. The Sins screamed inside the boy, but one by one, they were forced to leave. They came out of his orifices like filmy gray wraiths with round eyes, and open, howling mouths. The Sins flew around and arouind the room, wailing while Jesus shouted, 'BEGONE!' And they flew up through the roof of the house and depearted, their cries growing fainter until they were heard no more."

Sister Janette slid a ribbon bookmark into place and closed the Holy Book. Then she just sat still for a moment, her face glowing,and her eyes shining with fervor.

"See how Jesus freed the boy of his sins, Alphonse? If you just accept Him as your personal savior, he will cleanse you of your sins, including alchemy, the greatest sin of all!"

Alphonse did a double take. "Excuse me, but didn't Jesus just perform alchemy in that story?"

"Yes, Alphonse, he did. But only to free that poor boy from Sin."

Alphonse shook his head. "No, that doesn't make any sense if taken literally. I think the writer meant it as a metaphor because the mis-use of alchemy is what is wrong, not alchemy itself!"

He could get as excited as Sister Janette and he'd risen to his feet without realizing it. "The motto of the State Alchemists is 'be thou for the people', and Brother and I always did our best to live up to it!"

"You really believed all alchemists to be good, Alphonse?"

"Yes, Sister, at one time I did. Brother and I later found out there were some evil alchemists, but that is human nature. Plus, those people eventually came to a bad end. Yet, humans are basically good. Even if we occasionally do wrong, we can make up for it later."

"But what if you are mistaken, Alphonse? What is good works aren't enough to get your soul into Heaven? When you end up in Hell after you die, is that what you will tell Satan just before you are dropped into the Lake of Fire, to suffer for all eternity?"

Without even thinking, Alphonse blurted out, "Souls don't go to Heaven, they go to the Gate!"

"The Gate?"

"Uh-huh. The Gate of Truth," Alphonse nodded, as if for emphasis.

"And have you seen this Gate, Alphonse?"

He opened his mouth to say "yes", then abruptly clamped it shut again. Maybe I've said too much, he thought to himself. Only a few people knew he and Brother had attempted the ultimate sin of human transmutation.

Sister Janette's first instinct was to probe why Alphonse had seen the Gate, but he looked just obstinate enough to give her a hard time about it. She knew someone special she could ask later. She decided to try a different tack. "Your alchemy sounds like a religion, Alphonse. Tell me, what is the first commandment of alchemy?"

"The first commandment?" Alphonse was briefly taken aback until he recalled the first lesson Teacher drilled into him and Brother.

"All Is One, And One Is All!"

"All is one, and one is all?"

"I am One, and the Universe is All."

"It sounds rather conceited, Alphonse."

"Not at all, Sister. The workings of the Universe - the cycle of birth and death are so large - well, we can't see them. But all of us are important parts of the Universe, no matter how small we are."

"But, where does God fit into this?"

"God?" Alphonse was confused for a moment, then his face brightened.

"Oh, you mean Truth!"

"No, Alphonse. If the Universe is All, does that include God?"

"Um..." Alphonse was confused again, alchemy discussions didn't normally tackle theology. "It could, but alchemy obeys certain laws, like Equivalent Exchange, or the Conservation of Mass, not deities."

"So, you worship these laws."

"No, Sister, we don't. When Brother and I were young, we thought Equivalent Exchange was the world's one and only Truth. But as we gained more knowledge and met other alchemists on our travels, we learned it's not a perfect law that fits all circumstances. But even if not perfect, these laws must be obeyed or a dangerous rebound could happen."

"But, Alphonse. What about love, courage, forgiveness, and loyalty?"

Alphonse frowned again because he sensed Sister Janette was trying to trap him. "Alchemy is a science, Sister. Science doesn't deal with human emotions, most must come from within a person, but some are taught. My mother taught me many things."

"That must have been very frightening for you, Alphonse."

"How do you mean?"

"To know there isn't anything waiting for you after death," Janette spoke in a calm, measured tone. This was her trump card and it usually was the speech that convinced people to open their hearts to Jesus. "Except oblivion, the empty cold of nothingness."

Alphonse saw the philosophical corner she was trying to paint him into, and he thought hard for a way out. Sister Janette saw her chance when he hesitated, and she pounced.

"But what is there was another way to go, Alphonse? If you just accept Jesus as your personal savior and put your trust in Him, then you are asssured of a place in Heaven after your death." She paused for a moment to let it sink in. "I feel such peace, knowing God loves me and His plan for me is like a warm cloak on my shoulders. That is why I never feel the cold here, Alphonse. Because of the warmth of God's love."

A tiny voice screamed in Alphonse's brain. No! No! This is all WRONG! He had to think faster.

"Come, Alphonse," Sister Janette was already sinking to her knees off her chair. She held out one hand in invitation. "Let's pray together for the Holy Spirit to enter your heart." Janette took one of his hands and pulled. He began sliding off hisc hair too. Why not? It's so easy to go with the flow, to do what the nice lady wants.

His mind brought up an image of Brother kneeling at the corner of an array. Of his own hands clapping to summon alchemic reactions. He hesitated.

No! No! NO!

Alphonse stood up. He couldn't do it, couldn't pledge to worship an allegorial figure he didn't believe in. Alchemy was REAL, it was something he could feel and touch. Sister Janette would never understand how alchemy had shaped the boy he was, and the man he would become.

"NO, Sister. I can't - I WON'T convert." He gulped hard right after he said it because she looked so crushed. She hung her head and he saw tears plop onto the dirt floor of the cell. Alphonse heard her breath hitch oddly while she cried and a knife twisted in his heart. He hated to see women cry, to see other suffer. But the cynical side of himself muttered her tears were false, crocodile tears to manipulate his emotions.

"Oh, Alphonse," she breathed. "I feel so sorry for you, for the pain you are about to endure."

Sister Janette rose up slowly, and as Alphonse suspected, her face was not awash in tears. She picked up her Holy Book and walked slowly to the door and knocked. A lock clicked without, the door opened and she passed through. It closed with a bang that made Alphonse jump. Something he couldn't describe had snapped and an instant later that feeling became a certainty when the light in his cell went out.

Alphonse blinked to re-adjust his eyes, he shuffled his feet nervously and then the door opened again to reveal three large silhouettes on the threshold. They entered the cell and Alphonse backed up in alarm, he fell over one of the chairs and crashed to the floor. He heard the sound of wood breaking as the other chair was knocked roughly away and then they were on him.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Edward awoke promptly when he alarm went off at eight a.m., his left hand shot from under the blankets and silenced the shrilling black box. He sat up and blinked owlishly, his bedroom was silent and he couldn't hear any sounds from outside. But his nose detected the welcome aroma of coffee, and he hoped it was Cymru Roast, because the fumes alone could bring the dead back to life.

He climbed out of bed, used the toilet and took a shower, but this time he remembered to use the Snarls No More conditioner. Mostly dressed, he entered the dining room while buttoning his shirt and made a beeline for the silver coffeepot on the table.

"Good morning, Colonel Elric!" Mrs. Ravensworth called from the kitchen where she was still cooking his breakfast. Edward mumbled 'good morning' back, but his attention was focused on pouring the liquid gold into a delicate china cup. After three days in the hospital, he was suffering the pangs of caffeine withdrawal, and he idly wondered if it was wise to drink coffee on an empty stomach. Edward held the cup in both hands and savored the heady scent before he tipped the cup back and took a sip.

Three days of bland hospital food must have dulled his senses because the caffeine hit his system like a thunderbolt. He hissed between his teeth and drummed a foot on the floor as the needles of his internal dials all clattered on full power. Edward Elric was more than ready to find and rescue his little brother.

Right at that moment, Mrs. Ravensworth bustled in with two covered plates and she set them down in front of him. "I'll be right back with the rest, Colonel Elric."

"The rest?" Edward raised one blond eyebrow.

"You will have a guest for breakfast," Mrs Ravensworth paused just as the doorbell rang. "Oh! There she is!"

SHE?

Edward listened to his housekeeper's footsteps pad away in her sensible shoes, then he heard the sound of the door opening before she exclaimed, "Good morning, Agent Dasher!"

Amelia trailed in Mrs. Ravensworth's wake to the dining room. She was dressed in yet another severely cut skirt suit, this one in navy blue, this cuffs and lapels faced with black velvet. The blouse underneath the jacket was canary yellow in a soft-looking material that lay in attractive folds over the swell of her breasts. For some strange reason, she seemed to have trouble looking straight at Edward, and she took a chair across the table from him.

"Good morning, Colonel Elric," her manner of speaking was formal and clipped, and Edward felt even that greeting was forced. He poured some coffee into the empty cup that magically appeared at his left elbow and pushed over the table towards her hands.

"Have some coffee, Agent Dasher," he added in a severe tone after she hesitated. "That's an order."

Amelia stared at the cup with such suspicion Edward extended the index finger of his automail hand to nudge the creamer (in a pink cow-shaped container with a revolting grin on its cartoony face) and a blue china bowl of sugar within her reach.

That was apparently just what she wanted for she picked up the creamer by its tail cleverely designed as a handle and poured a generous dollop into her coffee. After setting the creamer down, she promptly drowned four sugar lumps into the brew that had turned a pale beige color. But the Cymru Roast ate the additions and laughed because they didn't affect the caffeine level. Amelia's red eyes widened just a tad after she took her first sip. Edward grinned as Mrs. Ravensworth returned with twom ore covered plates that she set in front of Amelia.

Neither of the persons seated at the table moved to uncover their plates and the housekeeper stood with hands clasped over her round stomach, a worried look on her matronly face. "Agent Dasher, I really do hope you aren't one of those people who think coffee and cigarettes constitute a proper breakfast."

Amelia blushed and lifted one of the lids to uncover a steaming mass of fluffy yellow scrambled eggs. She gulped, but managed to say, "They smell delicious."

But Mrs. Ravensworth didn't look convinced until Amelia picked up her fork, speared some of the mass on the tines and took a bite. Hetty was an excellent cook and the hum of satisfaction Amelia emitted wasn't an act. Mollified, the housekeeper finally turned and left the room. Edward uncovered his own breakfast - also scrambled eggs - along with two perfectly browned waffles on the other plate. He slathered them with butter and drowned them with Acadian maple syrup.

"You gonna eat that?" he mumbled around the last mouthful of waffle ten minutes later. Amelia wasn't even halfway through, and Edward had already cleaned off his plates. He munched on a piece of multi-grain toast spread with strawberry jam and sipped more coffee. Like Hetty before her, Amelia was astounded at his appetite and she also wondered how such a slight man could pack all that food away without gaining an ounce. "Those eggs are going to be stone cold if you don't eat faster," Edward admonished. "So hurry and finish because we've got a lot of work to do today."

"Such as...?"

"Such as a return visit to the Ancient And Noble Society of Amateur Alchemists for starters. I finally realized last night why Sister Janette looked so familiar, so somebody has a lot of explaining to do." Edward's golden eyes glittered dangerously and Amelia briefly felt sorry for whomever was the target of his ire.
+++++++++++++++
A different pair of eyes glared out from the slot in the door after Edward rung the bell, but he didn't give their owner a chance to tell him to go away. "Colonel Edward Elric. Let. me. in. NOW."

"Piss off!" came the slightly muffled, but very rude reply.

A vein pulsed in Edward's left temple before an evil grin twisted his lips and he clapped his hands together. He touched the door knob and tumblers inside clicked before it swung open. Edward barged right in with a bemused Amelia in his wake. He's like a bull in a china shop.

"You dare...! the door keeper let the angry threat hang in the air before he lunged at Edward, a large truncheon in one massive fist poised to strike. Edward just caught it in both hands, there was a flash of blue light and the truncheon turned into a feather duster.

"You - you - philistine!" the man bleated and he tried again to strike Edward, but instead he went reeling back from the Colonel's left jab. He hit the slate floor hard and glared up at the pair while blood spurted from his broken nose.

"Don't give me anymore static or you'll be wearing that duster up your [All hail lord Xenu]." Edward cracked the knuckles of his left hand and hoped the man would give him more static. He was spoiling for a fight after three days of enforced bed rest.

The sound of running footsteps approaching the entrance foyer were heard and the door keeper grinned. "Now you're for it, the final alchemists in New Britain are coming to sort you out!"

But he stopped grinning when the foreign alchemist not only failed to look frightened. He actually looked pleased when the doorway between the foyer and the receiving salon filled with people dressed in more of those ridiculous robes.

"Oh!" one of the newcomers exclaimed. "It's Colonel Elric! Welcome, Colonel Elric!"

"Save it," Edward grumbled with a slight sneer to his tone. "I want to talk to Maurice, is he here?"

"Now, see here, Colonel..." the man protested, babbling a little quickly because Edward was advancing upon him with a very scary glint in his eerie eyes. "You are a respected guest because of your rep - ouch!"

Edward was briefly annoyed he had to glare up at the other man, but he was pinned against a wall and looked properly terrified of the Fullmetal.

"I am right here, Colonel Elric. Please let go of Dawkins."

"Maurice, so glad to see you," Edward's voice was silky smooth menace while he pulled a photograph from an inside pocket of his coat. "I think this woman is related to you, what do you think?"

The photo of Sister Janette had an effect on Maurice, all right. His face paled several shades, his eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open.

Then he turned and bolted the way he had come, his resplendent robes billowing out behind him.

"Get back here!" Edward bellowed as he took off in pursuit, scattering startled Society members left and right. The chase began in the foyer, angled into the main receiving salon, throough the dining room and out into the main hallway. This was choked full of alchemy students going to their next classes.

Maurice was no longer the suave and self assured man Edward had met three days ago. He shouted "Get out of my way" while shoving children and other adults either aside or into Edward's path. Edward spun, dodged and where necessary leaped over fallen bodies. So intent was he on his quarry, he only dimly heard snatches of angry shouts or astonished cries. A few of the bolder ones attempted to grab his coat sleeves, but he just shrugged them off and kept running.

The chase went straight through the open doors of the library where Marice shoved a heavily laden book cart at him. It wobbled and fell over with a room-shaking crash, but Edward just leaped over it and landed on one of the long tables. He jumped from tabletop to tabletop and made up ground on Maurice, who was slowed by knots of students going about their business.

After six tables, Edward was close enough to leap on Maurice and they fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs, clothing and curse words that would make Second Lietenant Havoc blush.

Maurice was taller and heavier, but Edward was stronger and quicker. He ended up on top and grinned toothily at Maurice. "Let's talk siblings, shall we?"

But Maurice responded with such a flow of "language", even Edward was shocked.

"Gentlemen, please!" a voice in a penetrating sibilent whisper protested. "There are children present!"

The outburst broke Edward's concentration just long enough for Maurice to throw a knee into his crotch.

"Gack!" Edward rolled back and forth, hissing between his teeth after Maurice shoved him off and ran away. Library patrons stared openly at him, but he was in too much pain to care. He kept clutching at his throbbing bits while cursing under his breath.

The pain gradually bled away and Edward climbed shakily to his feet. He leaned on a table for a few more moments before taking a some stumbling steps. He still ached down there, but Edward thought he could manage it now. He could feel the hard eyes of head librarian Tom Dragonera on him as he passed the circulation desk.

They bored holes into the back of his neck and Edward was on the verge of snapping "WHAT!?" when the man spoke "Maurice went to the Great Hall" in a whisper that reached his ears alone. He half turned and and nodded in acknowledgement of the message and Tom nodded back, a tight-lipped smile on his lined face.

Nothing more needed to be said and Edward limped out of the library as fast as he couldn.

A bell signalling the start of the next class period rang softly as he re-entered the main hallway. Robed students ducked into open doorways which slammed shut behind them like gunshots. A small knot of adults-perhaps teachers-whispered amongst themselves and looked in the direction of the Great Hall. The robes of three of them were rumpled and dust-stained, and Edward guessed they'd been knocked down by Maurice.

The pain in his crotch was nearly gone, although he still walked a bit stiffly. He gave the group a curt nod and a tight-lipped smile, but didn't stop walking. He reached the richly carved bronze doors leading to the Great Hall and paused when about to push the handles down.

Angry voices-RAISED angry voices sounded from inside, through the narrow slit where the doors didn't quite meet. Edward pushed the handles down with more force than he needd, and he theatrically shoved the doors open.

The shouting stopped and the six people inside at the foot of a flight of stairs stared in confusion.

"Where is he?" Edward growled softly, the steel in his voice evident.

"Stay away from me, you barbarian!" a slightly panicked voice sounded from above. The Society members next to Edward pointed fingers upward.

An evil grin crawled its merry way across Edward's face and his eyes followed the pointing fingers. Maurice was leaning over the railing of the second level observation platform, but he yelped and jumped back when he met Edward's gaze.

"'Scuse me, pardon me,coming through." Edward pushed his way though the group and they parted quickly before him. He made the bottom step and raced up the stairs two at a time. He made it to the first platform in a twinkling, but he kept straight on to the second. Maurice saw him coming and he bolted for the stairs leading to the third level.

Edward's grin became wider. Just two more platforms to go and Maurice would be trapped. But he decided not to point that out to his quarry just yet. Maurice was gibbering at the knife-point of complete panic and Edward didn't want him to do something stupid.

Like jumping from this height.

Maurice was climbing the final flight of stairs and Edward was close behind when it happened; a gaggle of chatering women had started down from the top observation platform. Most of the group wore chic skirt suits and their glossy hair was cropped in fashionable bobs. They jabbered away in the melodic-souding Bourbon language and Edward guessed they were more amateur alchemists on a tour.

Directly behind the "hen party" was Clarissa, wearing plain robes of a deep emerald color. She paused after catching sight of Edward and her face seemed to light up from inside when she smiled at him. Plain her robes may have been, but they were daringly tailored to show off her narrow waist and large breasts. Even her hair was styled more simply in a 'Bourbon twist' at the back of her head and Clarissa looked far more chic than at his first visit.

But joy was replaced by shock on her face when Maurice charged through the group of women, scattering them right and left to grab the banisters and hang on. One of the group, a petite blonde with dark blue eyes was knocked right off her feet. She uttered a piercing scream as her body flew into the air and without thinking, Edward stepped forward to grab her.

He spun around to absorb the residual force before setting her safely on her feet. The woman was shorter than Edward and he felt a brief surge of male pride when she looked up at him, her hands clasped in front of her chest, blue eyes wide and sparkling; full red lips parted slightly. She said something that sounded complimentary in a soft voice, and Edward became aware he was blushing.

He closed his eyes briefly and slightly bowed his head before murmuring "Excuse me" and dodging around her to continue his pursuit of Maurice.

The Bourbonais women were shouting in outrage, and even Clarissa joined in with an angry "Maurice! What do you think you are playing at?!" just as Edward's quarry reached the end of the final flight of stairs to the topmost observation platform.

Edward jumped to the handrail and blanced for a moment before he lept up to grab an exposed metal support bar, swinging his legs for momentum before he reached for the next bar. He climbed the three protective railings ringing the platform and vaulted over the top, and into the air.

Sounds of female admiration came from below, but Edward's full attention was on Maurice, a moving target straight in front of him. They hit the metal floor of the platform together with an almighty crash, Edward on top so the wind was knocked out of Maurice. But the bigger man still fought to get away from Edward who straddled him, above the waist this time.

"That's enough, Maurice!" he ordered in severe,clipped tones that indicated he wouldn't take any more nonsense.

Edward clapped his hands together before slamming them down on either side of Maurice. The floor began to melt upward and it "flowed" into three ribbons of metal that encircled Maurice's body just above the elbows, just above the knees and at his ankles. Edward closed his eyes, and then sighed and the alchemic reaction stopped, leaving Maurice pinned neatly.

"I want the truth, Maurice," Edward again pulled the photograph of Sister Janette from an inside pocket of his coat. "She's your sister, isn't she?"
//////////////////////////////////////////////////

"Yes, my sister Janette and I were Pioneers", Marcus said in a quiet voice, his head hanging low. He sat gingerly in the wooden chair at a scrubbed wooden table in the kitchen area in a sub-basement of the Society building. "We were just small children then and our parents told us we were going on a great adventure; a mission from God to convert the heathen alchemists."

Edward sat across from Maurice, raked him with his golden eyes, and reined in his impatience with effort. The history lesson was all well and good, but he wanted to know where his brother and the other kidnapped alchemists were being held,and what the Christianists intended to do with them.

"When both of us were in our early teens, our parents were among a small group, carefully selected for their strong faith to go to Amestris. My father was especially on fire for the Lord, a great lion of Zion. He swore on the Holy Book to convert the Fuhrer, King Bradley, or die trying. They wrote to us every week, but their letters stopped coming after three months and not one of the group ever returned. We feared all of them had perished and our prophet told us to remember them as martyrs."

Edward was glad Maurice kept his gaze down towards the kitchen table and everyone's attention was on him. Otherwise, someone would have been sure to remark on the shock that flashed across his face.

He was remembering...

The last time he'd seen Winry's parents, Daniel and Sara Rockbell. He, Alphonse and their mother were at the Rockbell house to give them some cookies Trisha had baked, and to wish them a safe journey. They'd told Winry to be a good girl for them, then both turned and walked away towards Risembool station. Edward and Alphonse had stood on either side of Winry, waving and calling out "Goodbye!" until they were out of sight.

Daniel and Sara had gone on a mission to help people too. At least they'd come back, if only in pine coffins. Edward felt a momentary twinge of sympathy for Maurice before he remembered Alphonse, and his heart hardened again.

Janette had Alphonse. What was she doing to him?
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////

"GET UP!"

Alphonse coughed and sputtered when the icy cold water splashed into his face. He pawed feebly at his eyes in an effort to clear them and then gasped when a boot slammed into his midsection. A brief, sharp flash of pain and a cracking sound told him another rib was cracked,perhaps broken.

In the next instatnt, a hand grabbed a handful of the front of Alphonse's shirt and hauled him upright.

Or, at least semi-upright.

"Lazy little bastard!" he was shoved backwards and landed so hard on the seat of a wooden chair, Alphonse couldn't help uttering a small squeak of pain. Every inch of his body was pummeled into a mass of bruises, cuts and scrapes. Several of a his ribs, a couple of toes, three fingers of his left hand and his nose were definately broken. The remaining ribs were either cracked or bruised, Alphonse couldn't quite decide. He just knew it hurt whenever he tried to take a normal-sized breath.

Alphonse had begun to slump forward in the chair when his hair was pulled so hard,the pain made his eyes water. His arms felt a rope encircling them, tying him firmly to the chair, because it was the only way to keep him upright. He jerked his face way when the heat of an unshielded light bulb burned the skin.

"LOOK!" the harsh voice ordered, and Alphonse tried to, but his left eye was swollen shut in a puffy mound. He could open his other eye, but only to a narrow slit, and it watered so copiously, he could distinguish only colored shapes.

He knew the man was holding the Christianist Holy Book in front of him. His torturer had done this twice a day for the past few days,wanting Alphonse to kiss the book,confess his sins,repent - and convert. But he refused each time, and each time he was punished with a severe beating. Yet,no matter how much pain they put him through, Alphonse just couldn't do it. Believe an invisible deity had ordered the writing of a book that was the literal word of said god. A god who instructed his followers to torture and kill all non-believers.

This concept was utterly alien to his rational mind. Alphonse had been horrified by the level of religious animosity he and Brother had encountered in the machine world. Noa hd told him about the awful trials Gypsies had endured, the pogroms against Jews, the back and forth slaughter between Catholics and Proestants. In Alphonse's opinion, hurting or killing others based on who or what they worshipped was the very epitome of evil.

He couldn't help crying out loudly in pain when his face was slapped so hard his head jerked first to the left, and then the right from a second slap. Agony flared in his face, head, neck and shoulders, his broken nose began to bleed again and new splits appeared in his already swollen lips. The rope biting into his arms sent more dull messages as it chafed the skin of his arms raw.

Alphonse lost count of how many times he was slapped,long after his ears began riniging,he suppposed. He slumped against the ropes while warm liquid dripped down his face from his nose and mouth. It soaked into clothes already stiff with blood or plopped onto the dirt floor of the cell. His breath rasped as he took shallow gasps from between puffy lips because he couldn't breathe through the broken nose anymore.

His head jerked back and he cried out againfrom the white-hot agony when something hard and unyielding connected with that nose. The harsh voice thundered at him "Will you confess?"

"N-no."

"Will you repent?"

"No." Alphonse voice was a soft whisper,he barely moved his sore lips to keep healing scabs from tearing open. Yet he didn't hesitate to respond when the next question was asked.

"Will you convert?"

"NO!"

The book hit his face with enough force to stun him and the pain mercifully ebbed away, replaced by a numbing blackness. The hurt was still there, just not setting his nerves on fire. But the relief was only momentary,more icy cold water splashed into his face. It got into the cuts on his cheeks and made them sting. Alphonse spat out water that had gotten into his mouth, it smelled and tasted foul as if the inquisitors had drawn it from a muddy ditch.

The harsh voiced man drabbed him by the front of his shirt, and putting his face right up to Alphonse's,snarled "Let's try this again. Will you confess your sins?"
////////////////////////////////////////

The torture continued almost all night until Alphonse, weak from hunger,blood loss,pain and the unrelenting blows finally passed out and couldn't be awakened a third time, not even by repeated exposure to cold water. Alphonse hung limply from the ropes binding him to the chair, his mind floating in a twilit half-dream of memories. He heard the voices of the inquisitors as if from far away. Some kind of decision was being made about him. If they were going to kill him, Alphonse wished they would do it now,because he couldn't take this anymore. Even death was preferable to the state his was in now.

His mind slipped deeper into oblivion and he didn't hear the harsh voiced man say, "Alphonse Phillipius Elric, you have been found guilty of the sin of alchemy and you will be burned at the stake just after dawn tomorrow. May God have mercy on your wretched soul."

Sunk in a deep sleep, Alphonse at last found peace.
/////////////////////////////////

Edward sat staring straight ahead. His body was still, but his hands clenched and unclenched in his lap.

Beside him, Ian steered his Vauxhall Super Six onto the Great Northern Road and accelerated to the maximum allowable speed limit. In the seat behind him, Agents Dasher and Steed, headphones on, coordinated the various units of the New British Secret Service in the rescue operation they were mounting

Operation Flamel, it was being called.

After he'd picked Edward and Amelia up at the headquarters of the Ancient and Noble Society of Amateur Alchemists, the blond had fidgeted endlessly while the car crept through heavy Londonium traffic, more than once declaring he could walk faster than this. Ian paid most of his attention to his driving, but he snuck occasional covert glances at Edward because he was now quiet, too quiet.

The car was going very fast now, but it was still too slow for Edward's liking. His mind was racing far ahead to an unnamed Christianist compund where his brother and other innocent alchemists were in great danger.

Hang in there,Al. I'm coming for you!
////////////////////////////////////////////////

When Ian, accompanied by agents Steed and Peel, arrived in response to Amelia's summons, the doors to the Society headquarters on Kitten Mews were wide open. Two beefy Londonium constables stood guard to keep the curious at bay, and in the entrance foyer, Ian found utter chaos. The doorman was hysterical at the thought of non-alchemists intruding on the sacred precincts of the Society while two women police constables tried to calm him down. In the background, more police constatbles were attempting to interview excited students and teachers, but everyone was talking at once.

Just past the entrance foyer, he met Detective Inspector Button who was waiting in order to show him the way to the Society kitchen area. He was glad of the guide for there was a maze of angled passageways and twisting staircases between the dining room and the sub-basement where the kitchen was located.

"How ever did they get the food to the table before it turned stone cold?"

With a tired little smile, Button tapped the wall next to one stairway. It sounded hollow and Ian raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "A bank of dumb waiters goes from the lowest sub-basement, all the way to the topmost floor of the house. You couldn't see them in the dining room because the doors are rather cleverly hidden."

The closer they came to the sub-basement, the louder were the noises from below. Ian's ears eventually seperated out screaming and shouting. He didn't recognize the screamers, but the shouter was definately Colonel Elric. Two more police constables stood guard at the door, both of them nervously rolling their eyes at the noise level coming from inside.

Just then, a second brace of constables come out the kitchen doorway, one supporting his partner who held a bloody handkerchief to his face. He was moaning in pain while the other said, "Buck up there, Folly. I'll have you upstairs in just a tic - "

He came to a sudden halt and came to attention at the sight of Button. Folly looked curiously at his partner, and then at the Detective Inspector. He did a double take before standing to attention too - or trying to.

"Stand down, lads. Now what's happened."

"That crazy Amestrian, sir, that's what 'appened! 'E busted Folly's nose when he tried to pull 'im off the Society poofter - sir!"

"It's OK, Folly old chap, you did your best. Colonel Bond and I will take over from here. Get along upstairs you two." Button gave Folly a consoling pat on the shoulder as the two constatbles went by, and then jerked his head towards the hubbub coming from the kitchen. "Little fellow's got quite a set of lungs on him, hasn't he?"

At Ian's nod of assent, Button continued. "Well, best we go in and prevent any more bloodshed."

Quite a sight met their eyes after they entered the room. A dark-haired man wearing ruby red robes lay flat on his back on a large wooden table, valiantly holding back the automail arm-said arm now alchemized into a wickedly sharp blade-away from his face. He was one of the people doing the screaming.

On top of him was Edward Elric, straining just as hard to stab the dark-haired man with said automail blade. He was clearly furious, his face was red,his golden eyes blazed and he was shouting at the top of his lungs. More shouting came from Agent Dasher who had hold of his right arm and was trying to pull it away from the vicinity of the dark-haired man's jugular. On Elric's right was a handsome chestnut-haired woman in emerald green robes, she was tugging on Edward's shoulder, but not having as much success. She was screaming almost hysterically at Edward, who wasn't listening to her.

"All right, all right, all right, what's all this then?" Button strolled up to the table in the casual rolling manner of a constable on his beat who'd just come to break up a little neighborhood argy-bargy instead of an obvious attempt at murder. Button stood at one end of the table, legs slightly spread and hands behind his back, a benign look on his lined face, but his eyes were shrewdly taking it all in.

The noise stopped as if cut off by a knife, and even Elric stopped yelling and stared at the intruder.

"Oh, thank Flamel!" the dark-haired man cried. "This Amestrian barbarian is trying to kill me!"

"He's an ex-Christianist and his sister is holding my little brother hostage. He's also still in contact with her and refuses to tell me where Alphonse is." Edward squirmed a little under Button's relentless gaze. "But I'm not going to kill him, just hurt him - a little."

"Now, now, Colonel Elric." Button held his hands up, palms out, in a placating gesture. "I understand you are upset, but if you let me take over, I'll get your brother's location out of this - gentleman -, what's your name,sir?"

"Maurice - Maurice Turner," gasped the dark-haired man. "Now you've saved my life, I'm quite pleased to meet you."

A hum of conversation re-started behind Ian and he looked over at a small knot of women speaking Bourbonais. He nodded and smiled at them, "Bonjour mesdames" and they 'bonjoured' back before they returned to muttering amongst themselves. But Ian was close enough to hear every word and he was fluent in Bourbonais. He doubted Colonel Elric understood the language, and it was probably a good thing he couldn't because he would have been mighty embarrassed by what the women were saying.

They were talking about Edward; "le petit colonel Amestriane" and their discussion ran the gamut from his long hair, to his golden eyes, his courage and finally, his temper. But one conversational thread would have made Edward blush brick red because it concerned speculations as to the size of his manhood.
///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
'"Colonel; sir?" Amelia paused until she was sure she had Ian's attention. "Please take the Lilyfield Cross exit in 20 kilometers, we'll rendezvous with the gyrocopter there."

"Right, thank you, Agent Dasher."

For the first time, Edward look over at Ian, his curiosity had gotten the better of him. "Gyrocopter?"

"It's a fairly recent invention, Edward. The gyrocopter is a flying machine that can travel much faster than the speediest car. Plus, it's capable of straight vertical flight, which means it can set down in small areas much better than an aeroplane can."

"Um." Edward had that feeling again, like a caveman who'd wandered into a room full or rocket scientists. "I've never heard of gyrocopters, but then Amestris hasn't advanced beyond observation balloons."

Ian risked dividing his attention and he flicked his gaze over to Edward for a moment, but he couldn't detect any trace of dissembling in the younger man's open expression. Elric was serious. Technology-wise, Amestris was shockingly primitive due to its over-reliance on alchemy. But on the other hand, the countrys alchemists could do amazing things with this science.

Ian weighed the two in his mind and the scales balanced. If the peace held, the people of Amestris and New Britain could learn lessons from each other.

The car raced on up the Great Northern Road, Ian turned off it when he reached the Lilyfield Cross exit and after another ten minutes of driving, arrived at a flat patch of land surrounded by large metal pole buildings. "Lilyfield Cross Aerodrome". he said in reply to the raising of Edward's eyebrows. He jerked his head to indicate the gyrocopter. "Here's our ride, right on schedule."

Edward did a double take when he saw the gyrocopter. "We're going to fly in THAT?!"

Well, the machine didn't exactly inspire confidence in its airworthiness. The gyrocopter consisted of a space metal framework surrounding a small glass enclosed space for a pilot and two passengers. Abovve the cabin was a large two bladed rotor, behind it was a long tail with a smaller rotor in back. The whole machine was balanced upon a pair of narrow metal runners. All in all, it reminded Edward of an overgrown dragonfly. A fragile dragonfly.

Edward leaned against the car and regarded the machine with increasing dismay. He wondered if he would also be prone to airsickness, just like he tended to be seasick. He jumped when Ian dropped a heavy hand on his left shoulder.

"Ready, Colonel Elric?"

Edward couldn't back out, this WAS a rescue mission after all! He strode forward firmly behind Agent Dasher, who to his surprise cimbed into the pilot's seat. He ducked his head before entering the passenger area and perched nervously on the edge of one of the seats.

"Please strap yourself in, Colonel Elric!" Amelia ordered. She had already fastened her's and was pulling a set of headphones on. She began to flip some switches on a black panel in front of her and green lights blinked on as Ian took his seat next to Edward and strapped himself in.

Edward followed Ian's lead. Or tried to. He pulled on a metal tongue sticking out of the gyrocopters back wall, but the straps were a complicated affair. One belt went over the lap and clicked into one slot, then two more came over each shoulder and fastened into two more slots which stuck up between his legs.

Amelia said crisply into a microphone attached to her headset,"Unit XI to tower, Unit XI to tower. Requesting permission to take off."

"Tower to Unit XI, permission granted." came a tinny reply from a small round speaker on the front panel.

"Copy that, tower." Amelia's voice was all business as she flicked two more switches. An electronic whine started above their heads, and it became louder and louder until Edward's ears rang. Rapidly moving shadows on the ground told him the rotors were the source of the noise. He turned when Ian tapped his left shoulder, the spymaster held out a pair of headphones to him and Edward didn't hesitate to slip them on. Ian jerked one thumb upwards and mouthed Here we go! as the gyrocopter rose smoothly and slowly into the air.

Edward was just thinnking This isn't so bad when the ground suddenly began to drop away at a shockingly fast rate. In a matter of seconds, the metal buildings of the aerodrome looked like toys far below the gyrocopter which banked in a way that made Edward rather nervous before it shot forward in a north westerly direction.

He held to the sides of his seat in a death-drip,although securely strapped in, Edward didn't feel very safe. Despite Ian's best efforts to point out intriguing landmarks out the cabin windows, he also kept his gaze straight ahead. Edward wasn't interestedto know just how how up they were or how fast they were travelling. Or even in how many hundreds of hours Amelia had spent flying this thing. Just knowing the gyrocopter was flying above the tree tops was bad enough. At least he wasn't air-sick, one of the few crumbs of comfort in this experience.

Plus, he was getting closer to Alphonse with every rotation of gyrocopter's blades.

Hang in there Al, I'm coming!
/////////////////////////////////////////////
Back at the headquarters of the ANSAA, Ian stopped the racket with just a hand on Edward's shoulder and a few calm words. He convinced Edward to get off Maurice and allow him to be handed over to Button. Meanwhile, he took Edward over to a corner of the kitchen and away from the other people there. He didn't speak again, but just listened to Edward pour out his ample frustration btween clenched teeth and tight lips.

The younger man seemed to deflate once he'd said his piece and he sagged tiredly against the wall. "He knows, Ian. The bastard KNOWS! He refused to tell me so I was gonna scare it out of him."

"Scare him to death is more like it!" Ian massaged his aching temples, now the noise level was lower, an incipient headache could make itself known. He wanted badly to rescue Alphonse too. Not because he liked the boy-he did- because Alphonse's death would trigger an international incident. Alphonse Elric wasn't just any boy, he was the younger brother of the famed Fullmetal Alchemist, and one on a first name basis with Fuhrer Mustang too.

Plus, if he pulled out all the stops to rescue Alphonse, a grateful Edward would tell Ian some of his secrets. Such as, what was the incident they were talking about? What was the "machine world"? He heard a sort of high-pitched babbling coming from the other side of the room, Marine was pouring his own heart out to Button. He looked over once and scowled at Edward, but his face blanched white when Edward responded with a death glare of his own. Ian had the feeling Maurice wasn't the first person to find out what bad things would result from messing with the Elric brothers.

He had and was now well and truly terrified of Colonel Elric. After a few more minutes of talking, Maurice finally wound down and Button started his "good cop" routine of interrogation. He gave Maurice his best paternal smile and a pat on the back five minutes later before he handed Maurice over to a pair of massive constables.

Not until the trio were out of sight did he walk over to Ian and Edward. Detective Inspector Frank Button was not just an able interrogator, but also the best summarizer Edwrd had ever met. Amelia and some other constables came over for the lightning briefing and suddenly the agonizing wait for news of Alphonse was over.

Now they were speeding through the air at hundreds of kilometers an hour, but a black pit of fear opened in Edward's stomach when he saw the the distant wisp of dark smoke.

It became larger and larger until Edward imagine he could smell the sweet stench of burning human flesh. He was familiar with the scent, he'd smelled it before, on the streets of Lior and Central. The fear that Alphonse was down there churned inside Edward's mind like a living thing scratching to get out.

The gyrocopter flew over a final line of trees and there almost directly below them was the Christianist's "Burning Ground". Edward gulped heavily and shot a glance over at Ian. The spymaster's expression was unreadable, but the skin around his eyes crinkled when they narrowed in a pained look.

The ground itself was a large muddy plateau on top of alow hill. The outer circumfrance of the hill was lined with twelve poles, and as the gyrocopter descended, Edward could see the bottom third of each pole was ringed with vast piles of wood which gleamed wetlly. He guessed it was some kind of accelerant because three of the poles were reduced mostly to ash, only the very tops had escaped the full fury of the blaze.

Three more were burning fiercely and they were just pillars of flame. Another three more piles of wood had been ignited, but these flames were being snuffed out by white foam from red canisters wielded by men in long yellow coats. Edward saw two people struggling on each of those poles, which meant rescue had come too late for twelve of the kidnapped alchemists.

The gyrocopter had landed by that time and the whine was lowering in volme as the top rotors slowed. Amelia shut down the engine and Ian pulled off his headphones, then said something. But Edward didn't catch it and he didn't reply because his eyes were frantically scanning the faces of the people tied to those poles. He hadn't seen Alphonse yet! He pulled off his own headphones, opened the cabin door and peered anxiously out.

Several police constables raced by, carrying ladders to rescue the remaing hostages. Ian jumped out through the other cabin door and Edward followed, bent double to avoid the still moving rotor. He felt a little sick in the put of his stomach as his feet carried him closer to the remaining poles. Hostages were being untied and helped down the ladders. Once they reached the ground, wool blankets were thrown over their shoulders and they were gently guided to waiting ambulances.

On the side oppsite the unburnt poles, several Christianists-men in the standard drab coats and women wearing shapeless dresses- sat crosslegged in a large circle. Their hands were tied behind their backs and they were guarded by other men and women dressed in tan uniforms and carrying automatic weapons.

"The Royal Anti-Terrorism Squad coordinated with the local constabulary to put a stop to this little bonfire." Ian explained, "This habit the Christianists have of burning other people alive simply for being alchemists, or witches or wizards makes the local plods quite cross. This particular batch of Christiansts will be sent to Londonium for questioning. The really bad apples will become long term 'guests' of the Queen, but the rest will be deported to Meso-America. May their god help them because Inca justice is quite brutal."

It'll serve them right, Edward said to himself. Most of the rescued alchemist kept their heads down, but he could see the bruises and cuts on their faces. He clenched his fists. Alphonse would have been abused like this too. A pretty blonde woman was weeping with loud, ragged sobs as two women police constables walked past with arms wrapped around her and murmured "There,there dearie, it's all over now,everything is all right."

"It's not all right!" the woman blurted out loudly. "They tortured and killed my friends! It was horrible, a living nightmare that never ended!" She went back to sobbing while fat tears sprang from her blue eyes and rolled down her cheeks. At first, Edward thought her lipstick was smearing, but then he realized he was really seeing blood coming from her mouth.

The woman groaned once before her knees buckled suddenly and she collapsed to the muddy ground. Ian ran forward to help the two WPCs. He came up with her cradled in his strong arms, turned slightly and laid her on a gurney two men in white coats wheeled up. Edward came abreast of Ian and watched with him as the gurney was loaded into an ambulance. The back doors slammed shut and it quickly roared off with siren wailing, its wheels churning up large gouts of mud.

"All of them were beaten."

This statement came from a tall man who stumbled along while supported by two brawny constables. His head had been hanging, but now he looked up before he added. "Even the women."

Edward's face paled so quickly, he thought he was going to faint and his sight blurred for an instant. Even the injured alchemist noticed his reaction and said with a bitter chuckle, "It seems that even strong men are upset by this."

"No, no. It's not that." Edward replied in a quiet voice. "It's just that you look almost exactly like my dad."

The other man's face lit up, well, as much as it could considering the bruises, cuts and half dried blood on it. His face was thinner than Hohenheim's, but he was much younger. He looked to be not much older than Edward. He wasn't wearing glasses, perhaps they'd been broken by the kidnappers. His hair was long and unbound, as well as tangled and greasy. On his chin was a small beard known as a "van Dyke" in the machine world and it hung lankly down. Once his many hurts were seen to, this man would probably wish to take a long,hot bath.

He leaned forward and squinted at Edward, and this confirmed Edward's suspicion the man did wear glasses. "You have a queer accent,friend. Where are you from?"

"Amestris."

"Oh, of course!" If he hadn't need to hold on to the two constables for support, the man might have slapped his knee with astonishment. "Forgive my manners, my name is Phillipous Eldritch. You must be Edward Elric, Rudolfus told me about you, and - "

"And what?!"

"I've met your little brother, Alphonse. He's a brave young chap."

"You saw him?!" Edward's spirits rose quickly and fell just as fast at the sad look on the other man's face.

"No, not really,Edward. You see,we were kept blindfolded almost the entire time. Not until we needed to climb up to the poles were they taken off. So,I never saw him, but I spoke to him."

"Was he brought here with you?"

"I don't know. They forbade us to speak to one another and took him away the first day. I assume it was for an attempt at proselytizing. The young are more susceptable to what the Christianists call "love bombardment."

Edward contemplated the idea of his little brother converted, his hair cut short and dressed in drab, worn-out clothing like the other Christianist men. The thought made Edward's stomach clench again He closed his eyes and spoke to himself, No, Al is stronger than that. He wouldn't just give up!

"He wouldn't what, Edward?" Ian spoke in a clipped monotone and Edward blushed when he realized he'd actually spoken aloud.

"Al wouldn't convert. He's been through the same trials I've been through, so I think he's too strong to give in."

"Stronger men than Alphonse have converted to the Christianist faith, Mr. Elric. But if you are correct, then he would have been brought here and tied to a pole. If one of the Christianists took pity on him, a bag of gunpowder would be tied around his neck so it would explode and blow his head off before he burned to death."

The other man said it in a sad, resigned tone while he shook his head. "Poor lad, I didn't know him long, but I liked him almost immediately."

Edward looked over at the already burned poles where a team of people dressed in black clothing were climbing the half burned ones. They gently removed the charred bodies and placed them into black oilskin bags. One of the men uttered an oath when one body crumbled to ashes in his hands, and Edward recoiled as if he'd been slapped.

NO! Not Al! That can't be Al!

Twelve poles. Two alchemists tied to each poile. Twenty-four alchemists.

"Ian? How many alchemists in total were kidnapped?"

"Twenty-four, Ed - oh, damn and blast!"

Edward began to walk towards the charred poles, but his knees buckled before he'd taken more than a few steps. He landed hard on the muddy ground as a gust of wind kicked up and brought the sweetish smell of burnt human flesh to his nose. His eyes filled with tears as the reality of his loss hit home and Edward felt an overwhelming urge to throw back his head and howl.

"Al." he whispered in a choked voice.

Ian put his hands on Edward's shoulders, he felt so helpless because consoling a grieving person hadn't been part of his training. He could hear sobbing behind him as Amelia started to cry.

Edward tossed his head back, but that scent followed him, it wouldn't leave him alone. It would be with him for the rest of his days. His eyes overflowed and the tears fell freely.

"ALPHONSE!!"

Author's note #2: Yikes! Has it really been eight months since I posted the last chapter? One reason is the trouble I have hanging on to betas. Jedimasterwithapen had to give up the post because of school responsibilities, and her replacement was quite the procrastinator. So back to ff.net's list of available FMA betas I went. This time I chose Took-Baggins, another fanfic author who I also know from her work on Deviant Art.

And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, I just like to play around in its world from time to time and annoy the canon characters.

Summary: Another flashback chapter. Edward and Alphonse were living on Burnlae Estate near Oxford after they left London in the fall of 1925. Alphonse went to the village school while Edward tutored the Earl of Burnlae's heir, Rupert to pass a crucial exam university entrance exam. Everything is going swimmingly until January 1926 when Edward receives a mysterious letter which turns out to be from Mathun. The Drachmans have caught up to the brothers and mean to "collect" them for some nefarious purpose. Alphonse flees into the woods of Burnlae Park when Mathun's gang make their move, requiring Edward, Rupert and some estate employees to form a searching party. Edward becomes seperated from Rupert, but he makes his way to the summer house - the rendezvous he and Alphonse agreed upon - but it was a cleverly laid trap and someone knocks Edward unconscious.

Warning: bad language, a rape scene and other examples of curious violence. Proceed no further if you are easily upset by this.

Beta: Took-baggins

Chapter 33: In which some back stories are revealed.

somewhere in England, January 1926

Alphonse came to first. He rose up to full consciousness like a swimmer came to the surface of a deep lake. His eyes fluttered and memory gradually returned, this caused him to awaken with a loud gasp.

"BROTHER!"

He blinked sleep out of his eyes before he sat up and rubbed at them with his knuckles.

Where am I?

Darkness pressed against his eyeballs and this forced Alphonse to sit still until they became accustomed. It wasn't completely black, light peeked around the edges of some blocked-up windows and underneath a door. Gradually, he began to distinguish shapes: crates and barrels pushed against a far wall, a stack of lumber to his right, a door to his left. A few feet away on a narrow bed was a human-shaped lump underneath an olive drab blanket.

"Brother? Are you awake yet?"

Alphonse moved his legs from underneath a matching blanket and the bed he sat upon creaked. This made him wrinkle his nose because the mattress gave off an extremely musty odor. A layer of dust on the concrete floor was marked with scattered footprints and a ball of ice formed in the pit of his stomach.

We've been kidnapped!

So much for the hope they've finally shaken off Mathun and the other Drachmans. Brother was so sure they were safe,and after a few months of looking over his shoulder, Alphonse had come to believe it too. Until that letter came it all seemed to have happened just an hour ago.

His legs were still unsteady and Alphonse had to shuffle over to the other bed to get a better look at his brother. Edward lay on his left side,his legs slightly drawn up. He breathed softly and regularly, his right arm lay over the edge of the bed while the fingers of the left hand were curled underneath his chin. Edward's face looked soft and child-like in sleep, especially with his unbound hair scattered across it. Alphonse briefly stroked the silky strands before he gently shook his brother's shoulder. But still under the sedative's influence, Edward didn't stir.

Alphonse next wandered around the room in search of a way to escape, but after banging his shins on hard objects several times, he shuffled around cautiously until he reached the windows. But they were securely boarded up from the outside and there wasn't any chance of forcing them loose. He investigated every pile of debris in the room, but there were no open doorways, nor even large holes hidden behind or beneath them. Their prison was well chosen.

He returned to the bed and sat down cross-legged on it, wincing at the noisy squeaks from the springs. A lump rose in his throat and his eyes prickled.

Alphonse didn't want to cry because he needed to think clearly if he and Brother had a chance to get out of this mess. But he allowed himself the luxury of a few tears slipping down his face to ease the pressure in his chest.

The nightmare about Noa's death a year ago should have been ample forewarning. His dreams had become darker and scarier in the past months.

Alphonse still recalled the events of that horrible day with crystal clarity.

Most prominent was the bone-chilling cold. It took his breath away when the wind pushed it through the layers of clothing he wore and Alphonse had felt he would never be warm again. This room was chilly, his breath came from his nostrils in thin white puffs but it was bearable in comparison with that January freeze near Stuttgart.

Second in prominence came the smells: the far off trail of wood smoke, the acrid reek of burning coal and the exotic notes of cooking odors from all over the camp. When they fled through the woods, he smelled the softness of dead leaves, the rankness of damp, sweaty wool, and the feral scents of fear and pain.

Alphonse could also smell Brother's anger, it was primal, like a snarling dog pulilng on a frayed rope. It was mixed with a musky male fug of the brutal Thule soldiers, and the uncaring tang of cold metal.

The final scents were the acrid burning of cordite, overwhelmed by the coppery tang of blood. Mostly Noa's, but also Brother's from the blow to his head.

There were sounds also: dogs barking, men shouting, women screaming and small children crying. And gunfire, so much gunfire. Wrapped in its own bubble were the sounds they themselves made, the brittle crunch of snow, the pounding thud of their boots, loud breaths rasping from their mouths, then the snapping crack of a rifle and Noa's scream when the bullet struck her.

Nora screamed again when the soldiers dragged her from their hiding place; Alphonse was torn between his desire to protect her, and his concern for Brother who lay still and unresponsive on the churned-up mud of the creek bank. The situation became worse after they'd been pushed, pulled and carried back up into the woods. The Thule commander spat into Noa's face then slapped her with enough force the sound rang like another gunshot.

She'd lain on the ground moaning in pain before the commander approached her again while he pulled a knife from a sheath attached to his belt. He knelt down and metal flashed as he slit her skirts from top to bottom before he legs were roughly pushed apart. He supported his weight with one hand as the other worked the buckle of his belt.

He lay down on top of Noa, shifted his hips around and forced himself inside of her.

Alphonse wished he could have covered his ears, but his hands were bound behind his back, so he had no choice but to listen to the rape of Noa. To the sounds of her screams, the commander's grunts, the slap of flesh on flesh, the rhythmic crunch of dead leaves and rude sounds of encouragement from his troops.

After he "finished" the others took their turns violating and hitting Noa. The Thule commander beamed at them like a proud father before he turned and took in the blazing pain and anger on Alphonse's face. He grinned at the furious boy and asked "Would you like a turn too, Shambalan? She's not half bad for a Gypsy slut."

Alphonse responded with a searing glare from narrowed eyes and a defiant scream.

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

The man just laughed before he took one casual step forward and kicked him in the stomach. Alphonse pitched sideways and gasped for breath while sparks of pain danced in front of his eyes. Not since that day in East City when Fuhrer Bradley killed Martel just after she gasped out his secret had Alphonse felt so small and helpless.

At least Brother was still unconscious and didn't hear or see the degradation of the woman he loved, the woman who carried his child.

///////////////////////////////////////////////

He should have trusted his instincts because they never steered him wrong. So why hadn't he?

Because, a small voice niggled in the darkest part of his soul, you listened to Edward instead of yourself. Again!

But Alphonse couldn't help it. He loved and trusted Edward. After they'd been maimed in that failed attempt to bring their mother back, Edward had promised to make things right. Brother was foolish, headstrong and full of pride, yet he always kept his promises.

How's he gonna keep this promise to you now? sneered the voice. It was louder, like a tiny devil Alponse perched on his shoulder.

"Oh, shut up!" Alphonse snapped aloud and his stomach growled just then, as if to back up the sentiment. He wasn't surprised that he was hungry, his last meal had been lunch at the Burnlae village school. Vegetable soup, followed by 'toad in the hole' with steamed carrots, and for dessert, caramel trifle. His stomach growled again, more plaintively this time and ended with a drawn out gurgle.

Alphonse realized why he didn't heed the warnings of his nightmares. What would they have done? Run away? To where? There was a good chance Mathun was counting on them to panic and flee. Brother would have just told him he was imagining things and advise they sit tight. He had just two more months to go on his tutoring job and he wanted to see it through. The letter had shaken him up, but he felt Mathun and the others wouldn't try anything.

Brother had been wrong. Alphonse still remembered the paralyzing fear when the school bus door opened and Cavanaugh, followed by Conner stepped aboard. His throat constricted and he couldn't breathe except in short, frantic puffs. Cavanaugh was coming down the aisle towards him, a wide grin on his unremarkable face. Alphonse had gulped hard, he was shaking like a leaf and he wanted to run, but his feet felt glued to the floor.

Then Molly Simms, granddaughter of Cook and just as opinionated had stood up in her seat and icily informed the two men they had no business being on a school bus and they ought to 'sod off'. It was the opinion of both Alphonse and Lincoln that Molly could stand to be taken down a peg or two, but when Cavanaugh put out one large hand and shoved her back into her seat, everyone came to her defense. All the children began shouting at once and one of the older boys took up a fighting stance in the aisle and challenged Cavanaugh.

Alphonse didn't wait to find out how he fared, the noise had broken the hold fear had on him and he'd opened the window by his seat and then climbed out. Driven by blind panic he'd bolted down the drive, up an embankment and into Burnlae Park. He ran until his knees buckled and he tumbled to the ground in sheer exhuastion, and then he lay there a few minutes and struggled to draw air into aching lungs.

Eventually, he sat up and looked around, being not quite sure where he was. The woods were largely silent save wind soughing high up in the branches. No birds chirped in the dark winter afternoon and the only other sound was the distant bark of a dog. He was utterly lost in the woods of the park. Alphonse took a deep breath and held it for ten seconds before he exhaled.

He needed to think. Which direction was north? He looked up and noticed he could barely see the darkening sky. Alphonse recalled one of the stablemen tellling him moss grows only on the north sides of trees. It was worth a shot because star navigation was out of the question.

Alphonse started to walk and as he did so, kept an eye out for moss on tree trunks,but more than once he felt he was really walking in a circle. The trees eventually began to thin out and just in time because the sky had gone quite dark, Alphonse was shivering and his teeth were chattering despite his heavy wool coat. He peered into the darkness in hopes of seeing a lighted window, perhaps the cottage of an estate worker.

A twig snapped nearby and he froze before he looked about cautiously, but it was too dark for him to see very far under the trees. Alphonse took a few more tentative steps forward and suddenly he was out of the woods.

He was on a wide flat expanse of of winter browned grass partially covered by snow and it took him a few beats to realize he was on the south lawn of Burnlae House. This was the site of gracious outdoor parties in the summer, or so Lincoln had told him. Games were arranged to keep the children occupied while the men played cricket and the ladies played lawn tennis or croquet. Their elders sat in the summer house and talked until noonish when platoons of servants set up round tables and dressed them with white linen cloths and arranged chairs around.

The tables were then covered with all manner of delicious foods: grilled game hens, baked meat pies, steamed vegetables, watercress and cucumber salads, venison stew...

Alphonse's stomach growled loudly even then at the thought of food, and his mouth began to water. Even Brother's barely adequate cooking began to sound good and the thought reminded them of the secret hiding place they'd agreed upon. The summer house was only a few feet away to his left. It hulked there in the darkness, its graceful high Victorian lines seemed sinister in the dark, the gingerbread cut-outs just under the roof looked like eyes leering at him.

It was a very large structure, built some sixty years ago to accomodate up to one hundred people. A short flight of stairs led to a wrap-around veranda shielded by a wide roof overhang. Inside, there was one main room crowded with wicker furniture=chairs, chaise lounges and sofas - upholstered with overstuffed blue and white striped cushions. The ceiling was twelve feet high and supported by graceful wooden buttresses.

A spiral staircase along one curving side ascended to a smaller second story play area for the children. A metal ladder bolted to one wall allowed people to climb up to a tiny viewing platform, the sides were all glass and afforded magnificent views of the entire estate.

Alphonse and Lincoln explored the summer house not long after he and Brother had arrived and he could even see 'the dreaming spires' of Oxford thirty miles away.

Already fast friends, the two sat cross-legged on and floor and looked out the windows while Lincoln regaled him with stories of legendary lawn parties. The other boy explained the summer house's main purpose was to shelter all guests and their servants from surprise rain storms.

"One year, the first party after the war ended, the sky turned back and rain started peltin' down 'afore people could get to the summer house. All the ladies were soaked to the skin, so their dresses were plastered flat and we boys got quite an eyeful." Lincoln grinned widely and his brown eyes danced at the memory. "Mr. Hudson scolded us all afterwards but Simpkins said Hudson was just jealous because he wasn't there."

Ah, Lincoln,my good friend. Alphonse hoped neither Conner nor Cavanaugh had hurt him or the other children. Brother had told him a lot about 'alters', copies of people he'd known in the alchemic world. But Alphonse's spirits just soared that first day he'd first laid eyes on the alter of Fletcher Tringham. Sadly, his older brother - Russell's alter - had died in action during the Great War, so Lincoln was an orphan with no family.

He sighed again and started walking towards the summer house, his heart aching with the realization he'd likely never see Lincoln again. Up close, the summer houses louvered sides seemed to breathe in and out like a great animal. They were opened wide in nice weather to let warm breezes waft through the building, but in winter they were shut tight with boards placed on the inside to keep snow out.

A sudden gust of freezing wind blew through Alphonse's coat and made him shiver even more. His hands, feet and face were already numb with cold. He was amazed his nose hadn't fallen off, sheered away by the below zero chill.

A light was shining inside the summer house as if from a lantern andthe yellowish glow shifted as if someone moved in front of it. Alphonse's heart thudded in his ears, he hoped that someone was Brother as he approached the stairs. Then the door popped open and a woman looked out. Her face lit up when she saw him.

"Alphonse!"

Tola!

Oh,no!

He whirled to run and came face to face with Ryos. How had he walked up without making a sound? Ryos smiled, his too white teeth and his too blue eyes gleamed in the reflected moonlight. "Hello, little Amestrine!"

Alphonse drew breath to yell out in alarm, but Ryos clapped one hand over the boy's mouth and stopped the cry that burbled up from his throat. Something metal in Ryos's other hand shimmered briefly before he touched it to Alphonse's neck.

The boy stiffened at the sudden pain, like an electrical shock before he went limp and the light vanished.

///////////////////////////////

The room was cold, the light was cold and Alphonse's heart was cold, like a black hole tunneled through the middle of it. Sounds of movement came from behind him and he returned to the empty bed. He sat down on the edge and rocked back and forth while he waited for Brother to wake up.

////////////////

A rythmic creaking noise was the first sound Edward was aware of. He was confused and groggy at first, until he remembered his last moments of consciousness, then he was alert instantly. Edward listened hard, the creaking had briefly stopped when he shifted on the bed, and then re-commenced.

Edward rolled over cautiously. Alphonse was rocking back and forth on another bed a few feet away. He had a strange look on his face, and Edward had seen that expression before. When he'd decided to return to this world, and also when they were briefly prisoners of the Thule Society. Edward knew that look mirrored the stress Alphonse was under and he didn't like it.

He rolled himself to a sitting position, put his feet on the floor and tried to stand up. Too soon. The room began to spin around and Edward was forced to sit back down hard. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly until his heart rate slowed and he dared to open his eyes again.

The walls stayed put this time and Edward was able to rise to his feet, although his knees trembled and threatened to buckle. He didn't waste time in walking the few steps over to Alphonse and plopping down heavily next to him on the mattress.

"Al."

The boy kept rocking.

"Al." Edward said again, but Alphonse didn't stop until Edward laid an automail hand on his shoulder. "Al."

The boy's eyes were distant and the cold light shining from them made Edward shiver. He wound his arms around Alphonse and tried to draw him closer. The boy resisted for a moment, until Edward murmured "I'm sorry, little brother."

Only then did Alphonse relax. He wrapped his own arms around Edward and his fingers dug desperately into the fabric of his brown coat.

"I've failed you, please forgive me."

Alphonse dropped his face onto Edward's chest and began to cry. Softly at first, but eventually his sobs were strong enough to make both of them shudder at each convulsion. Edward moved his hands so his left rested on the top of Alphonse's head, and the right hand on his back.

He didn't hold quite as tightly, just enough for Alphonse to feel his touch and take comfort. The force of his little brother's tears made him sway back and forth gently.

Edward said nothing more. He didn't have to.

///////////////////////////////////////////////

When the door opened half an hour later, and Tola walked in with a covered tray, the Elric brothers sat cross-legged on the floor, their backs to her. They used one blanket to shelter their posteriors from the cold while the other blanket was wrapped around their shoulders. Alphonse had dozed off after his crying jag his head pillowed on Edward's lap, but he'd woken up when the locks rattled.

He sniffed quietly, once or twice when Tola addressed them. "Hello, are you two hungry?" Alphonse jerked slightly at the sound of her voice, but he didn't move any further.

"Come, boys, this is some lovely lamb stew. We know you are hungry, so please come and eat while its holt. I promise you it is not drugged."

It was the wrong thing to say to Edward. His back stiffened with disapproval while anger boiled in his soul. His heart pounded as the anger poured into it and it effervesced in his veins like baking soda in hot water. They carried the anger throughout his body to the ends of each finger and toe. The Drachmans had hurt and upset his beloved brother and that was unforgiveable.

He stole a glance down at Alphonse whose brown eyes were also narrowed, the anger radiating off his face like heat shimmers.

Edward's heart skipped a few beats when another voice spoke up. "Stop being so childish, you two. It is more important to eat and keep up your strength than take it out on Tola."

Mathun!

Edward's heart lurched again and he looked fully at Alphonse who gave him a tight smile in reply. They turned as one and fixed Mathun with such intense glares the balding man actually took a step back. But his polite mask never shifted and Edward ground his teeth with frustration. Gold briefly locked with blue in a duel of 'thousand yard stares' before giving way.

"Fine."

Edward despised Mathun, but that didn't change certain other facts. He and Alphonse would cooperate - for now.

//////////////////////

In the end, they ddn't have to balance plates on their knees. Conner carried in a scarred wooden table and two equally disreputable wooden chairs. Wanting to be helpful, Tola set the covered tray on the pitted surface and uncovered it before she placed two white china bowls and two old metal spoons in front of each chair. She turned a bright smile on the pair before she left the room with a skip in her step, like a young girl.

She probably didn't mean to insult them, but Edward's stomach flopped and he suddenly didn't feel hungry anymore. He looked over at Alphonse who'd stuck his tongue out and mouthed bleh! in silent reply.

///////////////////

The very air vibrated with hostility and Edward reflected it wasn't good for the digestion, a tiny joke that made him smile bitterly. Ryos stood by the closed and locked door and watched them eat because he was to collect the bowls and utensils. Mathun was apparently afraid the brothers would use them as weapons, or methods of escape.

If alchemy worked in this world, Edward would have happily done so and Ryos would be the first person he attacked. His death would be slow and painful before he would turn on the other Drachmans. Edward had begun sould searching the day after Scar killed Nina Tucker and this only intensified after he and Winry barely escaped Barry The Chopper. He was much too sensitive to death and the thought of becoming a 'human weapon' for the military disgusted him.

That evening he'd killed Greed, he'd cried his eyes out and then staggered into the kitchen where he'd thrown up into the large double basined sink. Then he slumped into a wooden chair and stared at his hands for the longest time. When he finally moved, it was slowly, like an old man with advanced arthritis. He'd washed his mess down the drain before rinsing his mouth clean of half-dried vomitus. Drabrisian water had a high iron content, so it smelled and tasted sulphurous, it probably had to be filtered before it was fit to cook with, and drinking it was out of the question. The odor reminded Edward of the hell he was already in.

After he re-emerged into the foyer, he'd looked over at the viscous red puddle of goo that used to be Greed, plus the pile of bones on the table, then shivered and fought the urge to vomit again. He imagined he heard footsteps echoing upstairs in the empty mansion, Edward didn't beleive in ghosts, but he hightailed it out of there and returned to Dublith. Edward went back to Dante's mansion only once more, and then in broad daylight with Izumi.

In the years since then, he still disliked death, although he'd gotten used to the inevitability of death and the occasional necessity of dealing it out himself.

//////////////////

Alphonse's first impulse was to toss his bowl of stew into Mathun's face, but such lofty intentions didn't sound so noble when his stomach was growling like an angry lion. He was extremely hungry by now and would have eaten anything that was offered.

The stew was hot and so full of chunks of lamb, carrots and potatoes it was almost more like a casserole than a stew. A few small chunks of bread were also on the tray and Alphonse used them to sop up the last bits of the thick and tasty gravy. He assumed Tola had made the stew; Conner and Cavanaugh were just "muscle", they probably didn't even know how to boil water. Mathun seemed too cerebral to know how to cook, and Ryos wouldn't dirty his pretty hands with pots and pans.

He snuck a glance over at Edward who was busy scraping out his bowl and Alphonse knew at once Brother had come to the same conclusions. Sustaining anger was about impossible on an empty stomach. They would eat, rest and watch for a chance to escape.

///////////////////

On the other side of the door, Ryos guarded, Mathun went over his plans for the exchange once more. "The written agreement is these 'Nazis' will hand over the uranium bomb in exchange for the two Amestrines."

"The fools deserve what fate has in store for them!" Conner chortled and cracked his knuckles in anticipation. He despised the Nazis as more weak 'machine worlders' he would happily kill and bathe himself in blood to his beetly eyebrows for the glory of Drachma.

"Yes, Conner." Mathun slowly winked his pale blue eyes like a snake. "We shall double cross them just as they likely plan to double cross us." He paused for a drink from a glass of water before he continued. "We'll be at the rendezvous point - an abandoned castle on an unnamed Scottish island - twelve hours earlier than we said. This will give us ample time to assess the area and choose the most suitable positions."

Bruce Cavanaugh leaned against a wall nearby, arms folded and expression unreadable. To say he was troubled by all the thirst for killing others was an understatement. He'd been just a petty thief - and not very successful - when he'd hooked up with this lot.

Or rather, offered something he couldn't refuse. He'd broken into a rented house in the Chelsea area of London and he was noisily riffling through a set of drawers when Conner grabbed him. The main reason Cavanaugh wasn't very good at housebreaking because he couldn't stay quiet. Now this whacking great brute was about to put a stop to his misbegotten career - permanently.

Cavanaugh was trying to accept his impending death with dignity and make his peace with God when a thin, balding blue-eyed bloke stopped the execution with one gentle word. Then he was thrown into a chair and given a choice: join or die. Cavanaugh clutched at it like a drowning man offered a rope from a lifeboat.

The fellow introduced himself as Mathun and said he was involved in the import/export business. His partners were Tola and Ryos, while Conner was head of security. The latter man had no staff, but then, he didn't need any.

Mathun paid Cavanaugh well, and while he had his doublts about the legality of Mathun's 'business, he kept them to himself. He was making good money and keeping his nose clean, no more house breaking for him.

Everything was going swimmingly until that day in the Bull & Crown when that small blond man with yellow eyes walked in and sat down at a nearby table. Tola drew a long, shuddering breath and Ryo's eyes widened at the sight of him. Cavanaugh admired the speed at which Mathun changed mental gears. They'd chosen to stop at this pub for a few pints just by chance, but within ten minutes after the stranger arrived, Mathun had engaged with Tola and Ryos in a strange conversation.

The stranger's reaction to what they said are what made Mathun decide to kidnap him. His company owned an abandoned hotel due to be gutted and renovated; it was empty right now and perfect for their needs. Tola gave him one of her rings and to Cavanaugh's surprise, Mathun opened its cleverly hinged top before he took a small vial of powder from an inside coat pocket, uncorked it and shook a modest amount in to the cavity.

He re-closed it while he gave Ryos orders to distract the man. In a few minutes, he and Conner swooped in to grab the drugged and reeling stranger and they hauled him outside and into their car. Even when plotted out this quickly, Mathun's plans always went like clockwork.

Except that one time, when the 'Amestrine' attempted to escape. Cavanaugh had lagged behind the others while he finished smoking a cigarette in the courtyard of the old hotel, he entered the stairwell just in time to see Ryos and the stranger fighting on the landing. Cavanuagh had felt a small burst of admiration for the blond man's speed and skill while his admittedly slower brain tried to make a plan on the fly.

Unwilling to risk injury at his hands, Cavanaugh melted into the shadows and waited until the smaller man reached the doorway, only then did he step foward to grab his head and slam it hard into the metal doorframe. Both he and Conner were sweaty and out of sorts by the time Mathun administered a second dose of the sodium pentathol, and at the time he still couldn't understand just what was so important about this young man. But he soon found out.

Mathun questioned the stranger in an expert manner, like he'd had years of experience in interrogation of prisoners. The answers he got stitched together an amazing story: a world where alchemy was not only possible but commonplace, a Gate and Portals, a plot hatched in this 'machine' world to invade the alchemic one, Nazis, jet planes, capture and escape, an uranium bomb.

During supper that evening, Mathun was excited, his face and eyes alive with light. This 'uranium bomb' was the unique weapon they'd searched for. They would contact this 'Thule Society' and offer them the two Amestrines in exchange for this bomb. But they wouldn't go through with the trade: all the Nazis would be taken prisoner and their souls used to pay the toll for opening a portal back to their world. They would have two talented alchemists to do their dirty work, and Mathun hoped to keep the brothers alive as prisoners.

"Amestris is far ahead of us in alchemic knowledge and my interrogation techniques will make the Elric brothers spill all of it. Unfortunately, there won't be much left of their minds left by the time I've wrung every last drop out of them, but I'll see to it their deaths are free of pain. Then I will ask the Triumvirate to grant them state funerals for their contributions to the glory of Drachma."

Tola made a small, unhappy sound in the back of her throat when she heard that. Edward - and the recently kidnapped Alphonse - were half-brothers to her beloved Rudolfus. "Please don't harm them, Mathun, I beg of you! They are trapped in this world just as much as we are. Just like us, they want to go home too!"

Mathun wasn't an unkind man; he briefly thought of his unstable older brother, Bersan who was far more savage towards Drachma's foes, yet he was also loyal to his country. "What do you propose, Tola? That we just let them go their own way once we've returned to the alchemic world? You know what the Triumvirate will say to that, don't you? To let this chance slip through our fingers because [u]you [/i]were soft-hearted will be seen as high treason!"

"We could just keep our mouths shut about it, and trust they won't go running to their Fuhrer. But that leaves Conner..." Ryos didn't speak often, but his words had the weight of much thought behind them. He pointed one long finger at the enforcer. "He will not let such a betrayal of Drahma stand, which means you will have to kill him to ensure his silence. Are you prepared to do that, Tola?"

Tola's face turned white. She'd only come on this mission because the Triumvirate wanted to keep Rudolfus cooperative. Otherwise, she didn't really care a fig about what the Triumvirate wanted. Conner grinned at her, an action which made his unpleasant face look even more frightening because he did it so rarely. Her eyes were large and dark in a mask which amazingly blanched another shade.

"Strike well, Tola of Drachma, and your secret will be safe. Be aware, however, that I am very hard to kill. Not even Bersan of Drachma could perform the deed, although he tried his best and came closer than anyone before him."

She looked back and forth between everyone's faces, as if for reinforcement. Mathun deliberately kept his face blank, Ryos smiled genially, although he had no intention of going against Conner. Cavanaugh simply shook his head because he knew taking on Conner was certain suicide. He'd been in that man's hands once before and didn't want to relive the experience. Tola's face reddened, and then her eyes filed with tears. She made another of those small unhappy noises before she lept up from the table and sent her chair flying backwards, its feet making a harsh screeching noise on the old wooden floor.

Tola stood there, swaying for a moment before she burst into loud sobs and fled from the room. One of the bedroom doors ringing the dining room slammed with enough force to make the overhead lamp hanging over the table shiver. Wails could be heard coming from the other side of the door and the four men finished their meal without speaking another word.

But the next morning, Mathun's plans to move the Amestrine and question him further to discover the bombs location went out the window when the brothers escaped into the streets of London. Cavanaugh was sure Mathun would have to abandon all his plans, but the man didn't seem at all concerned. He scribbled a short note, and enclosed it, along with Edward's flat key and identity card in an envelope and dropped them into a post box during their unsuccessful search for the pair.

"We will collect them when we are ready." Cavanaugh raised one brown eyebrow, but he didn't question Mathun's judgement. He drove back to their lodgings, his back aching from the effort of helping Ryos manhandle the unconscious Conner into the back seat of the car. That evenings meal was much quieter, Tola finished her dinner but refused to look at any of them, yet Mathun was still upbeat. His plans would need to be adjusted, but they would still have a positive outcome.

The next morning, after Conner had regained his senses, they packed up and drove to Plymouth where tickets were purchased and they took the cross channel ferry to Calais, and then a train to Berlin.

Berlin was a vibrant city, a city of contrasts where brightly lit nightclubs packed each night with "bright young things" were just around the corner from shabby neighborhoods worn to nubs by grinding poverty. Compared to Berlin, London was as stodgy and unappetizing as a week-old spongecake dotted with flyspecks.

Mathun took Ryos and Conner with him to meetings with the Nazi hierarchy at their headquarters while it was left to Cavanaugh to entertain Tola. He squired her around to the movies, to afternoon cabarets and to the clothing shops. Mathun made sure he had plenty of money and gave him a huge wodge of English pounds, French francs, or even Amerian dollars each morning. German marks had been made almost useless during the early part of the decade by wave after wave of inflation caused by crippling war reperations. The new Reichsmarks were gaining in value, but foreign currency was still more desireable.

The activities were diverting and Tola seemed happy on the outside because she chattered almost constantly about them to a bemused Ryos each night. But when she would finally fall silent, Cavanaugh could see the shadows of fear and uncertainty behind her eyes.

Mathun always seem to have plenty of 'the ready' at hand, Cavanaugh didn't know where it all came from and he had enough sense not to ask. Conner had been in a blue funk ever since he'd come to and he was in an even uglier mood lately. It was Cavanaugh's suspicion that Mathun had let slip not-so-subtle hints that needle contained sodium pentathol and he'd interrogated Conner while he was under. Without even breaking a sweat, Mathun kept control over his subordinates.

The negotiations wrapped up in just over a week, and Mathun seemed happy with the results. He sketched out the agreement after they'd arrived back in London, but the only sticking point was the Nazis didn't have the uranium bomb - yet.

"But they assured me a person who knew its location had been found and they soon planned to bring him in 'for an interview'. Translation: This person didn't want to talk to them and he was on the run.

Which led directly to their own conundrum: the Elric brothers had disappeared from London.

By now, Cavanaugh knew Mathun wouldn't be concerned, he would have a plan to retrieve the information he needed.

He sent Ryos, who could dazzle marble statues with his lethal charm to interview Edward's former landlady, Mrs. Doyle. The younger man came strolling in just after sunset, but he didn't divulge his results immediately. Ryos first went to his room to "freshen up" and then he ambled into the kitchen to help Tola prepare supper.

Not until the dessert course was cleared away and everyone was served from a big silver coffeepot that sat sentinel in the center of the dining room table did Ryos speak. But first, he took a cigarette from an engraved gold tone case offered by Mathun and lit it with a matching lighter. Ryos leaned back in the old wooden chair he occupied and took a slow drag that immolated a quarter of the cigarette in one puff before he blew a smoke ring and watched it lazily drift towards the ceiling. He watched it dissipate in the general blue haze just below the ceiling - all the men but Conner smoked like fiends - carelessly flipped a shock of black hair out of his eyes and smiled in an unfocussed way for a moment.

Then the smile vanished and he brought the chair legs crashing to the floor with enough force to make their downstairs neighbor bang on his celing and shout, "Keep it to a dull roar, mate!"

Ryos ignored him and growled savagely, sparks of anger flashing in his blue eyes.

"The little bastard lied to her, damn his worthless hide!"

Elric had spun quite a tale about his new job posting to Mrs. Doyle, but then he'd had much practice in lying during his four years as a State Alchemist, and the woman spilled it all to Ryos over a cup of tea sweetened " 'wi a wee dram of old Ireland." Ryos viciously mocked her accent because alcohol in the morning tended to give him a headache and all that work for second hand untruths had put him in a foul mood.

But he was a pro and hid the pounding in his skull behind a smooth as silk veneer. He'd spoken "MP" to Mrs. Doyle and got the whole story of Elric's supposed whereabouts embroidered with side trips into Ireland's bloody past of long-ago injustices, familiy tragedies, and religious bigotry. She was a war widow looking for a new man, plus she had various and sundry unmarried nieces on the hunt for husbands, and "aren't you a grand-looking fellow" who any young woman would be lucky to have?

Mrs. Doyle was very persistant and Ryos wondered how Edward had borne her loaded hints about sex, marriage, family, her poor dear dpearted husband (Ryos secretly envied him), and innumerable other trivial matters that made the cabbage roses painted on the wall paper throb in time with the pain behind his eyes.

The Elric brothers had left almost a fortnight ago to catch a train to Liverpool. From there, they would board a ferry bound for Dublin and then travel to some godforsaken manor house in the northwest part of the country.

"Poor lads," Mrs Doyle sniffed and bemoaned their fate. "They will be living amongst the godless Protestants, the children of the dark!" for the next six months at least.

After Ryos made an off-the-cuff remark about Edward's job, she replied it involved cataloging the library of some bloody Anglo-Irish Lord and she even named the place, and the nearest town.

Somehow, Ryos managed to extricate himself from the overheated parlor before he gave in to the urge to throttle her, and go to the British Library prior to closing to get in some research time. What he discovered was that while the manor house, the Lord, and the town actually existed, the library already was catalogued. A copy of said catalog had been deposited in the library's reference section not two years ago. Ryos slammed the cover of the catalog shut, an action which earned him a stern "Shhh!" from a librarian, and reproving looks from other patrons.

His headache, which disappeared once he gained fresh air after leaving Mrs Doyle mysteriously returned in force. Edward had embedded a few raisins of truth inside a well baked pie of lies and although he was just an Amestrine, he'd layed on the blarney as thickly as any son " 'o the old sod."

Mathun knew what to do, he always did. Just before midnight, all of them piled into the car and Cavanaugh drove them around in an apparently aimless fashion through the streets of London until Mathun directed him into an alleyway. Tola was left behind as a look-out at one end and Ryos at the other while Mathun ordered Cavanaugh and Conner to follow him.

After a few minutes of snaking their way through maladarous eighteenth century alleys, they came out into a small square courtyard formed by the blank backsides of nondescript brick buildings. Cavanaugh didn't ask questions when Mathun pointed to a wooden door that was deeply inset underneath a tiny porch.

Cavanaugh's one strength as a housebreaker was the speed at which he could pick a lock. Once inside the building, Mathun produced three small flashlights and the three crept up a back staircase by their dim illumination. The building was very old and in its youth was probably the townhome of some wealthy tradesman. Now fallen onto hard times, it was carved up into offices, but Cavanaugh saw some traces of its former glory which the remodelers had missed. Namely richly carved crown molding, ornate cornices and curved banisters among the enforced dullness of straight hallways punctuated at regular intervals by brown wood doors with frosted glass inserts.

It took them some searching, but the flashlight beams eventually lit up the words Tucker Employment Agency painted in neat gold letters on the glass. The doors smelled faintly of a recent rubbing with beeswax and the brass knob glowed like a beacon. But the lock yielded like a cheap whore and they entered the office soundlessly.

Horatio Tucker was not a rich man, but he did his best to show a front of respectable shabbiness. The upholstered chairs next to a low wooden table and all the rugs that deadened footsteps on the wooden floor were all past their prime and their age showed despite evidence of care. The chair fabric was worn if well darned, the table gleamed with polish and the rugs had been recently 'hoovered'. Only the magazines stiacked with care in the exact middle, not one spine out of place, were new.

The receptionist's desk had also seen better days, it was scarred with old cigarette burns and dents from collisions with something. All the paperwork was neatly piled on the upper right hand corners, a typewriter sat in the exact center, covered with a black cloth marked Royal in faded lettering. Cavanaugh saw a covered inkwell to the right of the typkewriter, but no pens, presumably they were stored in the top desk drawer.

None of them were locked and Mathun performed a perfunctory search. Their true quarry was through another door, this one Cavanaugh saw must have been original to the house, a four-panel affair of quarter sawn oak, black with age, and still in its original casing of oak with brass accents at the corners.

Gold lettering in a fancy gothic script proclaimed "H. Tucker", a bit faded as if ready for a fresh coat of paint. This door also smelled of a recent polishing and the brass accents shone brightly. This door was also locked, but it didn't give way so easily and Cavanaugh also guessed it was original. It took careful handling not to break a lockpick inside and he began to sweat at the thought. Conner probably could have smashed it down, but the noise would have been tremendous and certain to attract unwanted attention.

After what seemed like hours of work and every curse word Cavanaugh knew muttered into the stale night air, the tumblers clicked into position and the lock released. He stood by the door and massaged his aching back while Conner watched by the outer door and Mathun searched a bank of wooden filing cabinets. The faintest chuckle sounded from inside when he found the information he sought from Edward's employment file.

Not long after that, Mathun appeared at the inner office door, muttered "Let's be off" and strode out, leaving Cavanaugh to re-lock the door. They retreated soundlessly and without incident until they reached the alley where the car was. Ryos appeared to be busy in a back doorway to some business and once they got closer, Cavaugh saw he was fussing with a limp body. He was horrified when he saw the police constable slumped like a puppet with cut strings.

"Don't worry" Ryos assured while he arranged the man's head into a somewhat comfortable position. "He saw only Tola and then not closely enough to identify her before I sent him to the Land of Nod."

Ryos looked exceptionally pleased with himself and Cavanaugh knew he would be insufferable for the next few days. They drove back home to their lodgings and everyone went promptly to bed.

At breakfast the next morning, Matrhun first scanned the TImes before he announced another road trip - this time to Oxford. Cavanaugh just had time for a quick read and a small article buried in the middle of the paper mentioned the mysteriously knocked-out policeman, but there was nothing about a break-in at an old house converted into low rent offices.

/////////////

Oxford, the ancient university town of "the dreaming spires" was a lovely place, but unlike London, the bicycle traffic of hurrying students was more of a hazard than that of automobiles. They rented a house on a quiet side street and Mathun pored over a map of the area before they took their first drive out of Oxford, to a tiny village called Burnlae Halt early one morning. He directed Cavanaugh to stop near the village school where they watched a horse-drawn school bus draw up and release a small horde of chattering children.

"These are the children of the estate workers up at Burnlae Park," Mathun explained casually before he suddenly leaned forward , his blue eyes alight. "And there he is!"

A small blond boy, one of the last occupants exited the bus, closely followed by a taller boy with short hair the color of warm caramel.

"Alphonse!" Tola was happy to see Rudolfus's half-brother, but she abruptly stopped smiling and looked anxiously at Mathun.

He told Cavanaugh to drive bck to town immediately after the last child entered the school, where they enjoyed a leisurely lunch and Mathun told them what he'd discovered in Tucker's files. "Unfortunately, it will be impossible for us to conduct any closer surveillance of the brothers, the village is so small people will talk and word could get back to Edward. The last thing I need is to panic our quarry, Elric's first instinct would be to flee and that action would oblige us to collect them before we are ready. We will let them thiink they are safe, to relax and let their guard down."

After breakfast the morning after, Mathun and Cavanaugh left with barely a word. The pair first took a train to Glasgow, then switched to a short line railroad and finally a hired car on the lonely western coast of Scotland.

On a chilly November afternoon, he and Mathun stood on the rocky shore of an unnamed island in the Orkneys chain and looked at the outer wall of an abandoned castle.

"This castle is the way station, Cavanaugh. Here we will begin our journey home to Drachma."

Cavanaugh looked sideways at his employer and wondered what this meant for older man seemed charged up with electricity as if he were generating the power from within. Cavanaugh decided to put his doubts into actual words, Mathun had always been straight with him. "Mathun, what about me? I mean, I'm not a 'Drachman', so where will I end up?"

Mathun turned such a warm smile upon him, Cavaugh almost felt flattered. "The choice is yours, Bruce Cavanaugh. You may come with us, the Triumvirate will look upon you kindly and reward your generously for helping me. Or you can stay here in this world, I have seen to it you will have more than sufficient funds to live well for the rest of your life."

Cavanaugh was touched, yet he still couldn't force himself to believe Mathun completely. As if the older man had read his mind, Mathun continued. "I see you don't trust me utterly, Cavanaugh, but that is fine. It is always good to keep a little mistrust in the back of one's mind. A healthy instinct to have whatever choice you make."

He turned sharply on one heel and walked away, and after amoment, Cavanaugh hurried to follow. He didn't want to be left behind on this barren island, inhabited only by wind and incontinent gulls. He trailed Mathun over a creaky wooden bridge that stretched over a yawing gully strewn with straggly heather, and jagged stones that looked like human bones. It complained loudly with groans like dying men as they walked and Mathun's voice floated back, "An excellent system to warn us of visitors, eh Cavanaugh?"

Busy avoiding stepping on rotten planks, he just grunted in reply. The pair crossed a round courtyard floored with square limestone blocks. They'd clearly been there a very long time to judge by the amount of stunted grass that had grown up between. Mathun stopped short at the massive front door, a primitive looking affair of huge time darkened oak planks held together with square iron nails and stout strap hinges, the wood pockmarked with what appeared to be holes made by small cannon balls.

He pulled a large iron skeleton key from a coat pocket and fit it into a keyhole under the doorknob. It turned readily and the door swung open silently, both men wrinkled their noses as the combined odor of age, cold metal, mildewed stone and quite possibly ghosts rushed out to greet them.

A short walk down a high-ceilinged hall paneled in oak and lined with moldering banners led them them to another door and Mathun twisted the knob. It also opened, but with a horrendous creak and he pushed it open.

The space beyond was vast and echoing, Cavanaugh guessed it once was the Great Hall, the scene of feasts, celebrations and lamentations. Where the laird of the castle marshalled his troops before battle, or took a final stand against beseigers. It was an empty shell now, bare of any furniture or the colorful tapestries that shielded long ago inhabitants from the cold. Even the minstrel's gallery at one end was long gone, only a few rotted planks were left to reveal its former location.

Mathun turned around in a circle, his face alight with joy and he began to speak, as much as to himself as to Cavanaugh. "I once decided if I was fated to remain in this machine world forever, I would prefer Scotland to be my home. It alone reminds me of the empty valleys and stern mountains of Drachma. You may think my land is cold, but it has a severe beauty all its own. To see something like it again fills my heart with great happiness."

A low moaning sound throbbed from a narrow corridor leading off the far side of the Great Hall. Cavanaugh's reason told him it was only the wind blowing through unglassed windows and winding corridors, but his imagination saw the headless ghosts of clan warriors in kilts, bloody claymores in hand, stalking through the castle in some kind of endless penance for violent misdeeds.

Perhaps the inspiration for "the Scottish play" had occured within these walls, Scotland had a brutal and tragic history and...

"Cavanaugh? Are you with me?"

He jumped and came back to himself with a gasp when he noticed Mathun's face only inches from his own, those blue eyes boring deeply into his brown ones. Mathun smiled and Cavanaugh imagined the gates of Hell creaking open. Wether a Drachman or just a madman on holiday, Mathun was a frightening person.

He clapped one hand on Cavanaugh's shoulder and he felt that smile had partially reached those eyes for a moment. "Come, Cavanaugh! Let us be off back to civilization. Before any journey can take place, preparations must be made!

Author's note: I really meant to upload this story before Christmas, but my ten year old computer gave up the ghost in the second week of December. My brother lent me his newer computer, but I am having a great deal of trouble getting online due to my ISP refusing to recognize either my screen name or password. Fortunately, I was able to make use of a computer at my local library, thanks to one of the librarians taking off all the filters! Better late than never, Merry Christmas to all fanfiction writers and readers!

And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well


Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, I just like to play around in its world and annoy the canon characters for a while
Summary: Things look dark for Edward as he tries to face up to the fact Alphonse is dead. Or, is he?
Warnings: Violence, character death(?) and bad language
Beta: Took-baggins

Chapter 34: In which Edward discovers he is not as alone as he thought

When will this end?

The shaking and bumping sent tremors of pain through Alphonse with every jarring thud and he suspected the truck driver was deliberately aiming for the deepest potholes on the already washboard-like road. He lay as still as he possiblly could on the hard wooden floor of the truck, but still he groaned aloud as fresh flares raced along his nerves and exploded behind his eyes.

His eyes.

He existed in a world of complete blackness, unable to see even a glimmer of light through either eye becuase they were still swollen shut from the beatings he'd taken. Every inch of him hurt so much, the trucks movement made his brain struggle and fail to invent new words for "excruciating agony". Alphonse could sense the presence of other people sitting around him, just sobbing and curious mutterings, some in Amestrian, but others in languages strange to his ears.

A man was trying to comfort a crying woman whose loud sobs turned a knife in Alphonse's soul, "It's going to be all right. MI-6 is right on top of this and if I know Colonel Bond..."

Colonel Bond. It seemed a million years ago since Brother had introduced him to Bond back at his lodgings in Hotspur Hall. He tried to summon up a picture of the man in his mind as if for comfort,but it was too preoccupied with fielding pain messages to stay focused. For all their sakes, he hoped the unknown man was right.

For once the guards weren't yelling. Instead, they sang hymms in loud, out of key voices that rung like cracked bells. They songs all concerned war and spilling the blood of the Lord's enemies, they were an effective sort of punishment. Just then the truck rattled into an even deeper pothole in the rutted track, causing Alphonse to cry aloud in pain and some of the other hostages actually fell off their seats and jarred themselves on the wooden truck bed.

He instinctively braced himself, but no angry shouts of "silence!", nor kicks,slaps or punches followed this time. Almost as if the guards knew the punishment they carried the hostages to was far worse than any thrashing they could mete out.

Before he was loaded onto the truck, Sister Janette had come one last time to try and convert him. Alphonse was drifting in and out of consciousness, lost in pleasant dreams of childhood when he played with Edward, Winry and their other friends in Risembool. As a result, he found it was easy to ignore Janette and he heard only scraps of her 'talk' before he drifted back into his dreams.

Alphonse found himself back in Risembool, sitting on a stone wall and licking an ice cream cone. A scoop of strawberry topped with a scoop of real Bourbon vanilla, his favorite combination. Winry sat on his right side and Brother was sitting on her far side, Alphonse knew he was dreaming becasue both appeared as small children while he was the teenager he was now. No one spoke in the companionable silence as they slurped their ice cream and lazily kicked their feet in the air.

Den lay in her usual spot at Winry's feet, waiting for any stray drips. A soft warm breeze herded fluffy white clouds about in the vault of periwinkle blue sky above. Everything seemed to be as it should, but Alphonse gradually became aware of another person on the far side of Brother. He couldn't see a face, just nearly bare feet in black anklets kicking back and forth. Suddenly, both Brother and Winry jumped off the wall and ran away, hand in hand. Alphonse felt rather wistful watching them go until they disappeared over a low rise. Now he saw that hidden person and shock wiped all other emotions out his mind.

Envy.

But, something was different about the Sin. It wasn't the pistachio and peppermint ice cream cone he licked with an air of perfect contentment. He actually smiled at Alphonse, and even his violet eyes held a friendly light. Alphonse had the sense this dream-Envy did not bear him even an ounce of ill will.

Alphonse had fnished his cone by now and Envy said "Hello Den" before tossing the remainder of his cone into the dog's open mouth. Envy's smile only broadened while he watched Den crunch and swallow the cone noisily. Then the Sin turned his attention back to Alphonse and spoke directly to him.

"C'mon little brother, we have to talk."

Envy hopped off the wall and a bemused Alphonse followed suit, Den trotted after them while licking her chops. The trio strolled down the quiet and tree shaded dirt road that Alphonse knew led past the cemetery and the ruins of the Elric house, on their way into the village of Risembool proper. Along the way, Envy dropped an arm around Alphonse's shoulders, the Sin's skin was warm and the weight of it felt strangely comforting. They paused briefly on their way to watch the afternoon train leave Risembool on its way to East City and Envy waited until it was out of sight before he spoke again.

"I'm sorry, little brother, but you are going to die soon."

Alphonse was struck dumb for a moment and he looked up at Envy who gazed back with a disturbingly familiar expression on his face. His eyes were narrowed and his mouth was set in a taut half smile. Alphonse remembered Edward's face would assume that mein whenever he'd heard some particularly grim news. Den sat down in front of Alphonse and placed a paw on his left knee.

"I'm sorry too, Al, because I'm going to miss you. All the animals know you like them and they loved you for the kindness you showed." The dog flicked out her long pink tongue and she licked his left hand once while Alphonse just blinked in surprise because he'd never met a talking dog before. "It's going to hurt a lot."

That news didn't bother Alphonse quite so much because he was already hurting from the severe beatings. Envy swept his long arms around Alphonse and hugged him before he continued. "If you are lucky, Sister Janette will tie a bag of gunpowder around your neck" The Sin smiled in a bittersweet way and lightly squeezed his shoulders.

"Gunpowder?"

"Yeah, once the flames get close enough, the gunpowder will explode and blow your head off. Your death will be quick and nearly painless. Beats suffocating in the smoke - slow but unpleasant, or burning to death - faster, but agonizing."

"But what if Brother finds - "

"He won't find you soon enough Al. The Christianists took so many hostages they had to set up two Burning Grounds and - "

The sun abruptly exploded and flooded Alphonse's vision with intense light, like a flashbomb was detonated right in front of him. Both Envy and Den were washed away by the light, their shadowy figures and then their outlines shredded and faded away. At the same time, a wave of bone-deep pain raced through his nervous system and he woke up screaming.

The truck had stopped with one final lurch into a pothole. The tailgate was let down with a deafening clang and the guards began to hand hostages out. Two stood on the truck and led blindfolded people to the edge and handed them to two other men who helped them to the ground. They bound the hands of each hostage behind their backs with short lengths of scratchy hemp ropes before urging them towards a ring of twelve wooden poles. Even with their senses of sight muffled, some of the hostages seemed to know what was coming and they dug in their heels, a couple of the women whimpering in fear.

"NO! I don't want to die!" one cried out in a shrill,panicked voice.

"Too late, witch!" A Christianist woman yelled as she sank her hands into the woman's hair, grabbed and twisted before she dragged the crying hostage forward. Two men shoved her from behind. She fell down to her knees and began to recite a hymn known as The Disciple's Creed. But it only got her some hard kicks to the back and buttocks while she was hauled along the ground by her hair. Until someone shouted "Oh, pick her up!" and the men seized her arms and bore her off to the left-most pole.

Alphonse was brought out last, he stood at the edge of the truck bed and moved his head about blindly. The two guads slowly lowered him down, but his knees buckled soon after his feet touched the ground, and he gritted his teeth to prevent any more screaming. He didn't want to die, but even his hope Brother would come racing in and rescue him was beginning to fade. Acceptance of his coming death hovered at the edges of his mind, ready to seep into the vacuum and it had a surprisingly calming effect on his emotions.
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Ian hated to hear and see women crying, but to hear a man cry, Ian reflected, was a thousand times worse. Men were supposed to be brave and stoic and for those twin braces to fall to the onsalught of grief was a sign of just how dire the situation was. He still stood a few feet away from Edward with his back was to him, but his soul squirmed with each sob. Ian chanced a glance back only once, Edward was on still on his knees, but his muddy hands rested upon his thighs. His bangs blessedly hid his face all screwed up with grief, but not the tears which fell like rain while his shoulder shook convulsively.

Ian turned away again. He felt he should go other and try to offer some crumbs of comfort, but his feet stayed in pace. Colonel Elric's grief was private and mustn't be intruded upon. Let the poor man have some dignity at least. No one else was near them, the police had finished delivering their charges into ambulances that rushed them to the nearest hospital, and the mortuary crews were almost done recovering the bodies - or ashes of bodies. The final one passed by on Ian's right, the bearers of the canvas body bag - two men and two women - handling their charge tenderly like it was the most delicate porcelain and not a charred corpse. The sweet smell of burnt human flesh accompanied by the smell of wet ashes hit his nose and made his stomach turn badly enough to cause Ian to clench his fists until his finger nails scored half moons into his palms.

Agent Dasher had wandered off to cry alone on the far side of the gyrocopter. Fat lot of good that bit of technology had been, it still hadn't been quick enough to save Alphonse Elric and the other hostages who died. He dreaded the coming days: another tense interview with the The Higher-Ups, an official report to the Queen and Prime Minister, a personal verbal apology to the Amestrian Ambassador for his failure and maybe even a trip to Amestris to attend Alphonse's funeral. Thunder rumbled softly in the far distance as if reprimanding Ian for his tardiness and he clenched his fists again. The threat of a rainstorm would spur the Crime Scene Investigation Unit to step out smartly and collect evidence before it was washed away.
///////////////////////////////////////
Edward ignored everything and everyone about him. The world could have ended and he wouldn't have paid it the slightest bit of attention. All his hopes of rescuing Al were dashed, utterly blasted away. His brother was dead, burned to ashes and Edward felt he would cry for the rest of his life. Not since the day his mother died had he felt such bone-deep grief that seared his soul and crushed his will to live. So he let the titanic wave of tears carry him away and he cried harder than he'd ever thought he could.

He'd crept away to the woods after his mother died, walked beneath the trees until he was certain no one could hear him. There on a blanket of fallen leaves deep into Robin's Wood, he'd curled up into a ball of misery and cried with abandon until his eyes were red and swollen, and his throat scratchy and raw. Several adults later praised him for remaining dry-eyed and composed at the funeral while the waterworks were turned on all about him. But the truth was, he was just plain numb and it was easy for him to play the part of Stoic Elder Brother even though he wanted to join Al while he also wailed at the gravesite.

Alphonse

A fresh burst of grief squeezed Edward's heart and he briefly cried harder while his body rocked back and forth with the force of it. He also heard the thunder, but he ignored that too. So the whole world would cry along with him. That was fine, he no longer cared what it did. A whisper nibbled at the edge of his mind, a whisper which said one word: revenge.

REVENGE!

He would be justified in slaughtering every last one of the Christianists. They would feel the unholy wrath of a State Alchemist. He would bathe in their blood, walk knee deep in gore while he slit throat after throat and gave them a taste of the fear their victims felt, and -

No. He pushed revenge away and banished it back to his primitive underbrain, where it crouched and gibbered with frustration. Revenge, Colonel Bastard told him after the Tucker incident, was a dish best served cold. Meaning vengeance was not to be taken in the heat of passion, but meted out later, after reason had taken hold. But the twelve-year old Edward Elric hadn't cared, he wanted to find Nina's killer and tear him apart bit by bit while the bastard begged for mercy. Only after he encountered the killer-Scar-and heard his story did Edward understand what a pathetic creature the thirst for revenge had turned the Ishbalan into. In the end, Scar partially redeemed himself by saving Al's life from that massive alchemic reaction in Lior. Although Edward realized it was pointless to hate a dead man, he couldn't bring himself to completely forgive Scar.

Edward must be running out of tears. His crying eventually lost power and slowed to hiccuping sobs, punctuated by brief freshets of tears each time his mind touched on Alphonse. It leapt and then skittered away like a frightened animal from the deep pain, as if from a cut with a sharp knife. The open wound was so raw, so painful to touch. Edward raised his tear stained face and the world rushed back into his consciousness when he realized he heard not thunder, but hoofbeats.

Ian looked quizzically at the small party of horsemen who reined up near him, their sensitive mounts dancing sideways at the smell of death still hangng in the air. He did a double take when he recognized the leader of the group. The tall man who who led them sat in the saddle like he was a king on this throne. Age had touched that face with lines and wrinkles, but it hadn't dimmed the fiery golden eyes that stared haughtily down like a lions. Nor had it left many gray hairs in the long blond mane caught back in a ponytail. It cascaded down his back and seemed almost as long as the tail of the magnificent black stallion he rode.

Roderic Eldritch.

He nodded briefly, if curtly, to Ian as if to acknowledge the presence of another strong man, but his true interest lay elsewhere, on the grief stricken Edward Elric. Roderic dismounted with the lithe grace of a much younger man, arthritis didn't seem to have a hold on him either. He dropped the reins to trail on the ground and the horse stood patiently while his master walked over to Edward and crouched down next to him. He placed a massive black-gloved hand upon Edward's left shoulder and squeezed it until Edward looked up at him with surprise.

"Your brother lives, Edward Elric." He pulled a snowy white handkerchief from a pocket of his dark red riding jacket with his left hand and stuck it in Edward's face. "But not for long, so dry your tears and let us ride to free him and the other hostages."

Neither Edward nor Ian moved because both were stunned into sort of a temporary paralysis. Edward had met a few men who were so confident in their masculinity- Colonel Bastard, damn him-was one of them, although his confidence was a quieter type. But it still hit him like a punch in the face. Such men always made him feel like he was a little boy again and he swore he'd never act in that fashion. In Edward's mind, the hope Alphonse was not one of those charred bodies was like a lifeline flung to a drowning man. Once it seemingly was out of reach on the far back of a flood-swollen river and he would surely go under the rushing waters of his sorrow.

Edward stared in disbelief at the handkerchief for what seemed like hours before he reached out and yanked it from Roderic's fingers and savagely daubed his reddened eyes. He was scrubbing at the tear stains on his reddened cheeks when another rider dismounted and came forward, leading both his horse and another one. Ian recognized the short cropped hair shot though with grey. Rudolfus of Drachma. By the man's shambling walk, Ian realized, with a jolt of amusement, the man was extremely saddle sore.

"Little brother, hurry and mount up! We must ride quickly!" Edward turned his head to stare first at his half-brother and then swiveled it towards Roderic. The life ring was coming right at him and he grabbed for it with both hands.

"Ian!" He looked around Rudolfus and at the spymaster. "Can you and Agent Dasher follow us in the gyrocopter?" His voice cracked with the strain but it was all business again. Edward swiped once more at his face with the handkerchief before he blew his nose with a loud honking noise which made the three horses snort and toss their heads. Roderic's lips quirked into a paternal smile, "You may keep it" after Edward offered the sodden square of cloth back.
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Not five minutes later, Edward felt he'd made a terrible mistake. Just mounting the small dark bay mare Rudolfus brought for him was a trial. Roderic assured him "Trinket is a gentle mare who knows when she had a novice on her back", but Edward decided the man was lying. Rudolfus made a stirrup of his hands to help him mount, but he pushed so hard Edward nearly sailed right over the saddle and back to the ground. Trinket shifted underneath him and he grabbed the saddle horn in a death grip with both hands. He sat up straighter and struggled to find his stirrups and the moment he did, Trinket grabbed the bit in her teeth and went straight from standing docilely into a full out gallop.

The mare seemed determined to scare him to death, because she never stopped while he struggled to find a secure seat. His boots weren't suited to riding and they either slipped forward in the stirrups or threatened to slide out backwards. Pulling on the reins made not a bit of difference to Trinket, the mare knew the way to go and she wanted to get there as quickly as possible. So he stopped pulling and just held on to the saddle horn so tightly his left hand ached. But worst of all, Edward's behind wasn't in sync with the saddles movement, so that and his manhood were jounced painfully with each stride.I'll never father children his insane thought as he struggled to simply stay on.

Roderic led the way aboard his black stallion and he seemed to instinctively choose the roughest route through the countryside of New Britain, which rushed past and beneath the riders. The first jump, a furze hedge, took Edward by surprise. Roderic's horse simply lept into the air over that hedge and disappeared, and before he could react Trinket was flying over the same obstacle. Edward felt a brief heart-stopping moment of weightlessness before the mare returned to earth with a sickening lurch that nearly pitched him over her head. He hauled himself back upright just in time to see Roderic jump a four-rail fence. Edward felt he was far from ready and he gathered up the reins before he pulled hard on them.

Trinnket slithered to a dead stop, the other riders streamed past to fly up and over the fence. In less than a minute Edward was alone and silence rushed, broken only by his and Trinket's loud breathing and the creak of sadddle leather. The mare turned her head to look at Edward and he could have sworn she was giving him 'the hairy eyeball'. Then she snorted, as if in disgust at his cowardice.

"I'm sorry, Trinket, but I can't do it." This excuse sounded lame even to him.

Hoofbeats approaching from the other side of the fence made both of them look up and Trinket's alto whinny was answered by a deeper, tenor neigh. Moments later a girl on a large grey horse popped over the fence and cantered up to them.

"What's the matter, Colonel Elric?" She had a soft and melodious voice completely unlike Roderic's brash boom.

Edward just gestured helplessly, too embarrassed to admit he was afraid of the fence. The girl looked to be in her late teens with long black hair tied back in a low ponytail. Her yellow eyes looked very striking against some loose strands which blew around her face. She was dressed in a trim riding outfit of tight cream colored pants, a dark blue long sleeved shirt underneath a waist length black jacket, plus shiny black riding boots and black gloves. She was obviously a superior rider, but she'd probably been riding since she could crawl. Edward's only experience with horses was the occasional ride on the broad back of a plodding cart horse belonging to a neighboring farmer.

"Trust in Trinket, Colonel Elric, she's got years of jumping experience. I learned to jump on her." She capped that statement with a friendly smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes, which looked a bit haunted. Edward guessed she must be Trinity Eldritch, the girl Ian and his men rescued from a fiery fate.

That made him remember Alphonse who was facing the same unpleasant death and he felt ashamed of his fear. Edward awkwardly sawed at the reins to bring Trinket around and point her at the fence. The mare snorted again, but the timbre was different as if she was chuckling. "Keep the reins loose and lean forward a bit as you approach the jump, and then lean back as you land. Try not to tense up and you will be fine."

Edward tapped Trinket with his heels and the mare sped forward. He made sure she had plenty of rein and he leaned forward as the jump seemed to rush at them, and then backward when he felt the weightless feeling again. Trinket's fore hooves hit the ground with a solid thump, but the landing wasn't as jarring as before. "I'm sorry, Trinket, do you forgive me?" he mumbled into her laid-back ears. She gave him a ringing neigh in reply so Edward shook the reins and shouted, "Let's go!" He tapped her sides with his heels again.

The mare was off like a bullet shot from a gun and unlike the first time, Edward's heart didn't leap into his throat. He crouched low over her withers, knees gripping her sides, hands moving in concert with her bobbing head. His posting was far from ideal, but at least his backside wasn't getting the same wicked thumping with each stride.. Trinity came up on his right and they pulled a bit ahead of Edward. Her horse soared over a dry stone fence like it had sprouted wings. At the same time his hands loosened their grip on the reins and Trinket sailed over with barely a hitch in her stirde.

Edward was still a green horn, but he was learning fast although he didn't feel like going out and buying a riding horse any time soon. The other riders came back into view and Edward grinned because his anxiety was bleeding away slowly and he was feeling more confident. He risked cocking one eye upwards. It was difficult to see in the overcast sky, but he could just spy the black silhouette of the gyrocoper following along. It few high up to avoid spooking the horses - or alerting the Christianists their little "party" was going to be crashed. Edward's spirits soared along with Trinket as she leaped another fence.

The group galloped on for another mile, crested a small hill and came down the other side before Roderic raised one hand as a signal to pull up. Now the pounding of hoofbeats had ceased, Edward could just hear the sound of an idling truck engine over the horses blowing. "The wind is against us, which is good. It won't carry any noise we make to the Christianists, but we'll have to dismount here and go in on foot."

Everyone else did so quickly, but both Edward and Rudolfus got off a little stiffly. They were going to feel the results of this "exercise" next morning. Edward neary fell to his knees after he reached the ground because the bones felt like they were made of water. His backside burned like it was on fire and he walked with difficulty after he pulled the reins over Trinket's head and led her forward for a few yards He patted her sweaty neck and murmured "Thank you, Trinket" in a low voice into one ear. She briefly nuzzled his shoulder as if to say 'Be off with you, human.'

He dropped the reins like everyone else did,and they puddled on the ground. A dozen steps brought the entrie group to the lip of a small valley where Edward sucked his breath in because the butterflies returned to roost in his stomach. Perhaps 200 yards or so away in a clearing between two tree filled hillocks was a circle of wooden stakes surrounded by massive piles of yet more wood. A small fire was burning in front of the idling truck he'd heard before and around that fire walked a large group of robed and chanting people holding short wooden staffs. They were reciting some sort of prayer and this gave Edward an unpleasant jolt.

He'd attended several meetings of the Thule Society along with his father while trapped in the machine world. The others - Hohenheim would murmur very softly but Edward only mouthed the words - chanted in a similar fashion while they stood on the edge of an array. The prayer suddenly came to an end and each of the robed figures dropped the tips of their staffs into the fire.

No, not staffs. Those were TORCHES.

Pair by pair, the Christianists trooped in a line across the clearing till they stood a few feet from the poles. Each duo went to each pile of wood and waited expectantl for a signal. Then one clear voice rang out and the words were audible even to Edward. They made his blood run cold.

"BURN THE SINNERS!

Each pile of wood caught quickly with loud flaring sounds. The flames rushed around the bottom of each pile before beginning to creep upwards. Edward looked up at the platforms and saw two figures struggling on each one, he imagined he heard faint cries of distress. His eyes ranged first to the left and then to the right in search of Alphonse. In the very middle of the twelve poles, he saw one person was smaller than the others. It had to be Alphonse - but he wasn't moving - and Edward's insides turned to ice. Perhaps he was already - dead?

"Don't think like that, little brother." Rudolfus sidled next to Edward without him even knowing it. They were well away but he kept his voice pitched low. "I can see it on your face, it is so expressive."

"Suggestions, anyone? Roderic asked in a calm and even tone. He alone didn't seem perturbed by what was happening. Edward nervously chewed the side of his left thumb and thought hard. He looked down at the ground, the rough grass was wet with rain from the night before and the damp earth smell was strong.

Earth.

In the absence of water, it would smother flames, denying them the oxygen they needed to sustain their destructive force. Edward gave Roderic a big smile and pointed dow. The older man's lips curved upward in an expression which exactly mirrored his. Then he did something which surprised Edward. Roderic reached around to the back of his neck and fiddled with something there. He returned his hands to the front and they were holding a glittering strand. Roderic pulled and a medallion hidden by the high collar of his riding jacket came out into the air. Edward noticed everyone else was holding out a similar pendant. No, not a pendant, but a miniature alchemy array made of metal, either gold or silver.

"Form a line, everyone!" Roderic ordered cripsly and the entire group obeyed to line up at the valleys lip. "Each person concentrate on one pole, a fist of earth to smother those flames." People crouched down and placed their arrays on the ground before them. "On the count of three everyone!"

"ONE!"

The others bowed their heads as if in prayer and concentrated before they touched their arrays which glowed in varying shades of light. Edward felt the power thrumming through the soles of his boots. He stood alone, the hem of his coat flapping in the breeze.

"TWO!"

He clapped his hands and his soul sang with the surge of power. He WAS the array and the he imagined the runes he required lining up in his mind. He stared at the middle pole because that one was his. The runes in his mind began to glow with blue light.

ALPHONSE!

"THREE!"

Edward dropped quickly to one knee and slammed his hands onto the ground. The power flowed out of his mind, down his arms and into the earth to do his bidding. Alchemic power sizzled and hissed in arcs of a rainbow of colors from the other arrays before it also dove down. For a brief space, one or two heartbeats, nothing happened. Then Edward saw a slight spasm, a lifting of the ground as if it were an ocean wave and they were the epicenter of an earthquake.

It subsided, but another wave apeared almost immediately, and this one was larger. Edward gritted his teeth and concentrated harder, pushing the power along with sheer will power. This is for Alphonse! The earth waves became higher, the intervals between them shorter as they moved faster and faster towards the burning poles.

The flames were significantly higher now and the breeze brought faint screams to Edward's ears. He used that deseperation to fuel the transmutatio. Every molecule in his body hummed like a massive invisible chorus, resonating with the power of alchemy. Edward's vision began to blur because he was concentrating with such intensity. For all he knew the outside world ceased to exist while he communed with the Power. He bit down so hard his teeth began to hurt, but he never felt it.

FASTER!

The earth wave struck the bonfire and the whole pile seemed to melt into the ground. The truck sank to its cab into a hole which simply opened like a hungry mouth. Some of the Christianists realized they were under an alchemic attack and they pulled pistols from their belts and began firing at the earth. As if they could stop it. The shooting ended almost as soon as it began when the earth wave knocked all of them off their feet. A few quickly recovered and tried to scramble to their feet. But efforts werer too late as the earth turned fluid and they sank in to their waists. Just as quickly, the earth solidified and effectively imprisoned them. Then all was quiet for a moment, save the crackling of flames and screams of the hostages. Suddenly, a patch of ground before each pole liquified and pillars of earth shot several feet up into the air, twelve in all.

Each pillar metamorphized into a fist whch opened up into a hand. It came crashing down upon the pieces of burning wood, crushing and splintering them before spreading over each tongue of flame, and every hot ember. The ground solidified a final time and just like that, the burning was over. Roderic and the other relaxed and the alchemic hum weakened before faded away altogether. Edward opened his eyes but closed them again when sweat dripping down his face stung them. He raised his head and winced when his stiff neck complained with aches. Edward sat back on his haunches and blinked back the sweat before he wiped his right arm over his wet face. Now the euphoria of transmuation had lifted, he was uncomfortably aware of his stiff joints, pounding heart and clothes damp with sweat. They stuck to his skin and he couldn't wait to get back to his lodgings and take a long hot shower.

He hadn't given so much of himself to a transmutation for a long time.

Edward's eyelids began to feel unusually heavy and he fougtht back against the strong urge to just curl up on the cold, wet ground and take a nap. He looked over to his left to see his half brother rise very slowly to his feet. Rudolfus's lined face looked years old, it was swet with sweat and paled several hues from all the energy he'd expended. Even Trinity looked worn out. She stayed in a crouch while her hands moved very slowly to refasten the chain about her neck and tuck her array back under her collar. A few of the others had risen to a standing position, raised their hands hands into the air and clapped once before stretching to one side and then the other to relax cramped muscles.

Only Roderic Eldritch didn't seem tired. Quite the opposite, the man looked postively energized, his eyes shone with vitality while he stretched. Edward let his gaze sweep back to the Christianists who struggled in their earthen prisons. The alchemists up on the platforms were mostly quiet now. He could see faces turned in his direction and one or two called out for help. But he only had eyes for a still figure who hung silently from the ropes binding him to the pole.

Alphonse...

He was still waiting to be rescued and Edward's weariness immediately left him at this thought. He caught Roderic's eye and the older man smiled briefly as if he understood Edward's intent. He turned and nodded at two young men who nodded back and started to walk, then broke into jogs back to the horses. After a shrill whistle floated back to them, Roderic put two fingers into his mouth and uncorked a whistle loud enough to wake the dead. Whinnies split the air as if in reply, and all the riderless horses came cantering back, Roderic's black stallion in the lead. Trinket came straight to Edward and stopped right next to him. He saw her reins had been looped back, the ends tied to the saddle horn. She turned her head and looked expectantly at him before nudging his left arm with her head as if to say, "Well? Hurry up, human!"

Edwarrd untied the reins and tried to stick his left food into the stirrup, but it was a bit too high and Trinket, impatient to be off began to jig in place and throw her head up and down. "Hold still, dammit!" he growled and that seemed to work because Trinket stood still, although she gave him another reproachful look for his 'language'. Edward finally shoved the toe of his boot into the stirrup and standing on tiptoe grabbed the saddle horn with one hand and the cantle with the other. He silently counted to three before taking a deep breath and heaving himself upward. It was still an awkward scramble for him to get into the saddle and he was still working to get settled as the last riders urged their horses into gallops.

Edward had barely gotten his right foot into its stirrup and picked up the reins when Trinket suddenly shied, whirling and then rearing when the gyrocopter roared by only one hundred feet above his head. He dropped the reins and dug his fingers into Trinnket's mane until she came down but pointing the wrong way. He'd lost the strrups and worked to get his boots planted back in them, then pulled the left rein to turn her and clicked his tongue.

The mare was off like a fired bullet again, so fast his right foot came back out of the stirrup. Trinket flew over the valley's lip and charged down towards the Burning Ground like a cavalry horse. Edward's boot found a tenuous toehold back in the stirrup so he just gave her plenty of rein and held on for dear life.

She passed several horses in her headlong dash before the rucked-up ground close to the poles forced her to slow down. She nimbly wove her way through the crowd of trapped Christianists who hurled insults and other verbal abuse at him and the rest of Roderic's party. Edward ignored them and tugged the reins to aim Trinket at the middle pole.Almost as if she knew exactly what he wanted, Trinket slowed to a trot and then a walk before she stopped at the bottom of the mud covered pile of smoldering wood around the pole.

"AL!" Edward stood up in the stirrups with anxiety coloring his shout. He attempted to dismount quickly yet gracefully, but his right boot became briefly hung up in the stirrup. When he tried to free it, his left boot slid backwards out of its stirrup. He made a frantic grab for the saddle horn, but missed and fell in an awkward tangle of limbs and coat. Embarrassed, he lay still for a moment until he imagined he heard the faintest call of "Brother?" flaot down from above.

It galvanized Edward like he'd received an electric shock. He regained his feet, shook himself once to straighten out his coat and charged up the small hill of mud. His boots sunk into the sticky mess and he quickly lost traction on the steep angle. "AL!" Edward frantically dug his hands deep into the mud and clawed hard for every inch he gained. He looked up once at Alphonse and any further words stuck in his throat.

His little brother hung like a broken puppet from rough hemp rope wound several times around his body which bound both him and another man to the pole. This man was trying to twist around to look at Edward who was making a lot of noise huffing and puffing while he climbed. But a blindfold was still in place and he couldn't see until he finally leaned back against the pole to in an attempt to rub the piece of cloth loose.

Edward finally reached the lip of the platform, he grasped it tightly with both hands and grunted in his effort to haul himself out of the clinging brown mud. He immediately started to work on the ropes which bound Al's wrists behind his back, but his mud covered hands were making the task very difficult. His frustration mounted and he began to mutter swear words under his breath until he remembered to alchemize the cover of his right arm into a blade. The extremely sharp metal sliced through the rope like it was butter, but Alphonse's hands hung limply at his sides.

"Hang on, Alphonse, I'm going to get you out of this."

Alphonse was quiet again and Edward hoped he'd merely passed out from the pain. Although his head hung low, chin to chest, Edward could see a slow drip of blood from his face. Alphonse's left hand was swollen to twice the size of the other and Edward guessed it was broken. Fresh anger blossomed in his chest at those who'd done this. But he would deal with the ones responsible later. First, Alphonse needed urgent medical care.

"Senor?"

Edward looked over in the direction of the voice. A plump man with short black hair and a long drooping black mustache with a blindfold half on and half off peered anxiously back at him. His neck was twisted at an awkward angle and his round face was covered with dark bruises and dried blood. His hair hung in greasy knots and his mustache was bedraggled with one side inexplicably shorter than the other. "Scuse?" he asked hopefully.

"Sorry", muttered Edward and he took the few short steps to chop at the rope which bound the man's fat wrists. It also gave after a just a couple of whacks and slithered to the platform.

"Grazie, senor, grazie." the man rubbed his left wrist with his right hand while he smiled broadly to show his appreciation. Edward couldn't understand him, so he simply nodded before returning to Alphonse's side..

Down below him, Roderic and the others hadn't been idle. THey'd climbed on to the other poles and released the remaining hostages. Four at a time went up so two people could support each hostage down the muddy hills. All of them had bruised and bloody faces, some held their sides to shield broken or cracked ribs. One man had suffered a broken arm and he came down biting his lips until it bled.

The Christianists were left alone in thier muddy prisons. The alchemized ground would hold them nicely until they could be properly sorted out by the Royal Anti-Terrorism Force. Edward could hear the sound of approaching vehicles in the distance and presently two trucks full of uniformed men and women ground into the clearing, closely followed by a line of six ambulances. Men and women dressed in white clothing with red crosses stitched on to the back leapt out of the latter vehicles. They caried folded up stretchers and set a line of them upon the ground. Then they approached the rescued hostages and started triage for the most seriously injured.

Amelia must have radioed their position as soon as the clearing in the little valley was located and Edward felt a stab of gratitude towards the Ishvarlian agent. Right now, he was preoccupied with the problem of how to get Alphonse to an ambulance without causing him further pain. Rudolfus and one of the ambulance people struggled up the steep incline to the platform, the latter's white clothing already well spattered with mud. They stopped halfway up to look down at the soldiers who stood about in small groups and scratched their heads while wondering just how they were going to extricate the Christianists from the ground. Edward decided to stick with his task and let them figure it out.

Rudolfus was helping to carry two long poles wrapped in canvas and it took Edward's sluggish brain a few beats to process the information it was a folded up stretcher. He merely pointed at Alphonse and Rudolfus understood instantly. His half-brother came around Edward to put his hands underneath Alphonse's arms. Edward brought his automail blade up and began slashing at the remaining ropes. The hemp was thick and stubborn, but it yielded after just a few passes of the sharp metal. Rudolfus grunted slightly as he took the entire dead weight of the unconscious boy, pushing him partially upright so they didn't plunge off the narrow platform.

His head fell backwards as Rudolfus turned his body and knelt to lay him down on the unfolded stretcher. Alphonse lay still, the subtle movement of his chest the only sign he was still alive.

"Strewth!" The word just burst from the lips of the ambulance man who was supporting the foreign alchemist. He shook his head, aghast at the state Alphonse was in. The boy's face was so distorted with swellings and bruises, puffy split lips and purpled eyelids, Edward barely recognized him. "Poor laddie, he's in a very bad way, very bad. Getting him to hospital will be a trial."

"First let's get him off this damn pole, I can't stand the sight of it anymore." Edward's voice was thick and shaky with emotion, or maybe it was just delayed reaction to coming down from his adrenaline rush. He could feel himself getting punch drunk with weariness because stale childhood comments were whirling around in his brain:

"Did you get the number of the truck that hit you?"

"Someone looks like a wall jsut fell on him."

"You look like something the cat dragged in."

The last one would be funny if the situation wasn't so dire. Edwald knelt down and put two fingers against Alphonse's neck. A pulse was there, if weak and thready. Alphonse's skin felt cold and clammy, his clothes were torn and dirtied with mud and the rusty marks of dried blood, and his shoulder length hair was greasy. A soft moan issued from between split and swollen lips, Alphonse was trying to regain consciousness, but the boy gave up the struggle and relaxed back into sleep.

"Al? It's okay, I'm here and I'll get you to a hospital. Just hang in there a little bit longer." Edward held Alphonse's broken left hand gently between his own hands as if to transfer some of this strength. But Alphonse didn't respond and Edward's stomach started churning again. A pulse beat of pain began to make itself known just behind his eyes, a result of no food since breakfast and over tiredness. The foreign alchemist was almost down to the ground with the help of the amublance man and it was time to get Alphonse down. Rudolfus hopped off the platform and into the mud, he overbalanced and put his arms out to right himself. Only when he was secure did he reach out for the poles by Alphonse's feet. He hefted it to shoulder height and pulled back a bit. Edward sat down on the edge of the platform and eased himself down into the mud.lHe turned and took the poles by Alphonse's head, grunted once and heaved his end off the platform.

The stretcher tilted alarmingly and the two shifted their grip on the poles to bring it down to waist height and level it out . Rudolfus started down the slope first, walking very slowly while looking back over his shoulder. Edward dug in his heels because gravity and Alphonse's weight threatened to pull him down flat on his face. He bent backwards, his left shoulder and arm aching with the strain as they made a slow and torturous descent. Any jostle made Alphonse groan and Edward's breath hitched in his throat each time.

Suddenly, Ian was there and he took a hold of one pole. "Please let me help, Edward." They'd reached the bottom of the hill without him even realizing it, and with a sigh of relief, Edward let him grab the other one and take the weight. Amelia also came up and offered him a canteen, naked sympathy in her wide red eyes. He murmured his thanks, pulled the stopper and lifted the canteen to his lips before he took several long pulls. The water was clear and cold and it felt good rushing down his parched throat. He didn't drink all the water, intending to give the rest to Rudolfus. But a nurse was already by his half brother's side and offering him a flask. Edward smiled and tipped the canteen back to drain it dry.

The nurse knelt next to the stretcher now, shaking her head while guiding stethoscope ends into her ears. Her face turned very somber while listened to his heartbeat and his respiration. "Poor lad might not live long enough to get to hospital"

"He's hurt really badly, Ian. The bastards broke several bones and I'm afraid he could be bleeding internally." Edward looked over toward the sound of roaring engines. Some of the ambulances, filled with the injured were turning around and slowly trundling back the way they'd come down the track which seemed to be composed chiefly of potholes. "No way, Ian. No way could Al handle an ambulance ride, it'll kill him!"

Edward shifted his gaze over to the now silent gyrocopter which had landed a few feet beyond the half buried Christianist truck. For the first time since he'd reached Alphonse, his face cracked in that familiar Elric smile.

"We'll take him in the gyrocopter, Ian."

The spymaster was struck dumb for a moment, then he followed Edward who walked past Alphonse's stretcher and protested, "See here, Edward, you can't. The passenger area isn't large enough for Alphonse to lie down and there is no way he could sit up -" He stopped between the truck and the stretcher, his voice trailing away.

Edward kept walking,his boots squelching in the mud, over to the disabled truck. He stopped next to it and reached up to pat the canvas cover over the trucks bed. "Alphonse will stay on his stretcher, and ride underneath the gyrocopter." He beckoned Rudolfus with one hand, "Bring Al over here."

The spymaster looked at the Drachman who looked blank for a moment before a smile similar to Edward's crept across his face. Ian next met Amelia's gaze, but she just responded with a blank look and a shrug. These alchemists are mad. Yet she crouched down and picked up one end of the stretcher and Rudolfus picked up the other.

"Right." Edward rubbed his hands together after the stretcher was set back down on the ground. "Let's light this candle." He blew out a sigh and silently asked the Gate of Truth for the strength he would need. He positioned himself halfway down the truck's length, clapped his hands and touched the canvas top.

Immediately, a hissing sound, like hot coals splashed with water filled the air and blue light flared into the air. Ian could smell the alchemy as it ozoned the air and made it seem heavy and difficult to breathe as if the transmutation was using up all the oxygen molecules for energy. He remembered Edward had seemed out of breath after he'd alchemized that protective wall along the River Thamar, an event which appeared to have occurred ten years ago.

The canvas cover began to ruffle as if buffeted by the wind and then it twisted upon itself like soft taffy before it turned semi liquid and [u]flowed[/i] into the air. The nurse exclaimed "Bloody hell!" and backed up a few steps, her face pale. One hand fluttered to her chest like a startled bird seeking shelter. The canvas was forming itself around the stretcher, jiggling like jelly under Edward's hands. He crouched next to the stretcher, molding the canvas like clay. If it was too thick in one spot Edward moved it to fill in a thinner area. Ian looked back at the truck and he was startled to see the canvas abruptly ended halfway down as if sliced by a sharp knife, so clean was the new edge. The now exposed metal supports gleamed in the pale afternoon light like the ribs of some great beast.

He switched his gaze back to Edward who was putting the finishing touches upon the morphing fabric. His eyes were half closed and he bore a beautific expression on his face, as if he was in some sort of ecstatic trance. Maybe alchemy was a sort of religion and those most skilled in the use of it were its high priests.

Roderic and some of his party had wandered over to watch Edward at work. The crackling blue light reflected in their eyes, and they were gazing almost adoringly at it. "Beautiful, isn't it?" Roderic said to Rudolfus and the other man nodded, his face still blank. "We are seeing a master alchemist at work."

Edward finally dropped his hands and the sound and light show faded away into nothingness as he slumped back on his haunches. The canvas solidified, and it now surrounded Alphonse like a cocoon which held him firmly, yet not tightly to the stretcher. Edward beamed at his creation like a proud father. His face was pale but eventually regained its former fair color, if more slowly than the last time. "I'm not finished yet." His voice was soft with exhaustion. "Ian, would you help Rudolfus carry the stretcher over to the gyrocopter and position it underneath?"

Later that night the spymaster would be amazed at himself for the ease in which he carried out the request of a foreign alchemist, but right now he simply picked up one end. Once it was in place, centered underneath the gyrocopter, Edward somehow summoned up an extra burst of energy and again blue hissed and crackled like a nest of angry neon snakes as the wooden stretcher handles writhed and twined themselves around the gyrocopters struts. Edward urged the wood to stretch and solidify again. Before he finished, he swept his hand over the canvas above Alphonse's head so the leading edge rose up slightly and re-hardened into a curved wind shield.

This time, Edward really was at the end of his rope. He didn't rise from his crouch next to the stretcher and his sweaty face remained pale. He felt boneless and utterly drained, but he still wasn't finished. A sort of support system needed to be rigged up to bear Alphonse's weight. He tried to rise to his feet, but just staggered backwards and fell with a thump on to his backside, and he remained in that position, head hanging. Roderic knelt down next to Edward,took a small engraved silver flask from an inside pocket of his riding jacket and offered it.

Edward accepted it gratefully with a quiet murmur of "thank you", uncrewed the cap and took a deep swig while his fingers trembled slightly on the flask. This proved to be a mistake as strong fumes raced up his nose and made his eyes water. At the same time he coughed and sputtered heat exploded in his stomach like a bomb. He managed to stammer out "WHAT was that??!!" before he broke off in another fit of coughing.

"Brandy mixed with water." Roderic didn't sound exactly contrite for not telling him before. "It's working. Your face is beginning to regain some of its color."

Edward took another drink from the flask, but only a cautious sip this time and he had to admit the heat blossoming in his stomach felt good. It raced through his veins and he felt a bit more like himself, but when he tried to stand up, he found out the brandy didn't give him any energy. His knees trembled and they buckled again, he slipped back into a sitting postion and sat there with his legs sprawled. Elrics don't give up that easily, so Edward gritted his teeth and made a third attempt, but never got any further than on his knees. Damp mud oozed moisture through his pants legs and a shiver spasmed through him. He looked west and saw the sun hovering just over the horizon behind thin clouds. It would be dark in about an hour and Alphonse still needed to be taken to a hospital.

"Stop, Edward, stop. You haven't any strength left." Roderic advised.

"Colonel Elric? Will you let me try?" Trinity knelt down next to Edward and she laid a hand gently on his left shoulder.

"Okay." Edward didn't have the energy to argue or to finish the job. "You know what to do?"

"Of course!" Trinity scolded with mock irritation. "I AM an Eldritch, after all!"

She stood back up and tripped over to the disabled truck like a little girl. She pulled the array-pendant from inside her collar and held it to one of the naked metal supports. A reddish light flared to life after she touched two fingers to the array and the support began to ripple and soften. One end detached itself and waved in the air, then flopped to the ground and came weaving from side to side, like a very long metal snake. Edward watched it begin to lace itself from side to side underneath the stretcher until Alphonse was supported by an open framework of glowing metal. After Roderic nodded once at her as if approving her work, she ended the transmuation. The metal solidified back to gray, looking as if it had always been there.

"Very nice bit of work there, Miss Eldritch." Ian smiled at her before he caught Amelia's eye. "Agent Dasher, let's get young Mr. Alphonse to hospital!"

"Hold on!" Roderic held up one hand. "I have a better idea, Colonel Bond. My estate at Bishopscourt Hille has a specially made healing array. If it's all right with his elder brotehr, I would like you to take Alphonse there instead."

"That's a very good idea, Colonel Bond," Amelia looked anxiously at the setting sun. "It'll be dark soon and I can't fly the gyrocopter after sunset"

All three looked inquiringly at Edward who just nodded tiredly but said nothing.

"You can be there before darkness sets in. I hope you and Agent Dasher will be my guests for the evening, I have plenty of extra bedrooms. Then you can set off back for Londonium as soon as the sun is up."
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It sounded like a plan.

Amelia, with Ian and Roderic as her passengers took off in the gyrocopter. Edward watched the machine rise up and he was glad to see the metal netting underneath Alphonse holding firm. It stopped a hundred feet up and hovered for a moment before turning in a half circle and heading off in a south easterly direction. Edward followed more slowly with the other Eldritches, somehow he managed to crawl into the saddle with help from Rudolfus. His feet found the stirrups and he said "Take me home, Trinket" in a quiet voice. He kept the reins loose and the mare nickered softly before she took the bit and began to walk out of the clearing. He must have fallen asleep more than once because he woke up to see the sun was suddenly at the horizon and tinting the clouds red with its dying rays.

"Sailor's delight is a red sky at night." somebody said and that was the last thing Edward remembered for a while. He came to himself a second time to discover night had finally drawn over New Britain. The clouds had cleared out and what looked like thousands of stars winked down from a sky like black velvet. It was then Edward realized his body had finally figured out how to post while he was asleep, his limp muscles moved easily back and forth as Trinket walked.

Then they crested a small hill and there was the Eldritch estate, Bishopscourt Hille. Edward couldn't see much in the dark except the main house was very large and looked like a crenallated fortress. The many blocks of side buildings, their windows glowing with welcoming light, gave the effect of a small city. But what really caught his attention was a domed two story affair smack in the middle oddle of the compound. Blue light streamed from high windows and he knew immediately that was the site of the healing array.

He couldn't wait to see Alphonse.

The horses increased the pace of their walk and Edward had to pay stricter attention to his posting after Trinket broke into a trot, it was a gentle gait but it still shook his bones. He tried to concentrate on getting his hips to move in rhythm, but before he knew it, the soft thump of hooves on dirt was replaced by a loud clattering after they passed under an archway into a cobblestoned stable block. Trinket veered left and stopped next to a short flight of concrete stairs with a railing, Edward wasn't sure what it was but he was grateful to be able to dismount without feeling for the ground. Someone took Trinket's reins and led her away, while a young woman in a long dress took Edward by the elbow and steered him across the stable block. She opened a wooden door and led him into the house.
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Ten minutes later, he stood underneath a pulsing shower head that sluiced the dried mud and sweat off his skin and the soreness from his muscles. He scrubbed every inch he could reach with a long-handled boar bristle brush which made him feel his skin was beilng flayed off inch by inch. After that, he chose a bottle of shampoo from the small arsenal in the shower enclosure and washed his hair three times, then massaged in a large dollop of conditioner. When he emerged from the shower, his skin was pink from scrubbing and the heat of the water. Steam floated in the air and fogged the mirror so Edward didn't find the small mountain of fluffy white towels laid on the dressing table until he was almost on top of them.

There came a knock on the bedroom door, but before Edward could respond, a muffled voice called out that fresh clothes were laid out on the bed. He dried his body off quickly, and after wrapping a towel around his head, Edward opened the bathroom door and peeked out. Cooler air rushed in and goose pimples raced up his left arm, so he made a beeline for the bed. The pants legs and the shirt sleeves were a bit long, but he rolled them up out of his way and appreciated the warmth of the wool socks he pulled on. He returned to the bathroom to carefully dry his automail and then his hair. A comb and brush were set out and he spent several minutes working out any snarls before re-tying his ponytail. He was still tired, but the shower and clean clothes had made a world of difference in his mood.

Someone knocked on the outer bedroom door and it opened halfway before Ian popped his head in. "Hullo, Edward. Feeling better?"

"Very much, but..." The question was on Edward's tongue and he blurted it out. "How is Al?"

"He's much better too." The spymaster let his lips relax into a genuine smile that reached his brown eyes. "I was allowed to watch and what alchemy can do is amazing! Roderic says your brother's internal injuries and broken bones are mostly healed and he's stable enough to complete his recuperation here. Unless you really want to transferr him to hospital tomorrow."

"Can I see him?" The news lifted a large weight was lifted off Edward's shoulders and he took a deep, cleansing breath. The bedroom seemed brighter, the flames crackling in the tiled fireplace were cheerier and - his stomach grumbled loudly. It hadn't been fed since that morning and it reminded him with sharp hunger pangs. Edward scowled briefly when Ian chuckled.

"Roderic says not tonight. Alphonse is comfortable and he will likely sleep until tomorrow afternoon at least." He looked back as footsteps were heard just outside the door. "Ah, here is our escort to the dining room."
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In hindsight, Edward felt an escort was a good idea because he and Ian could have easily gotten lost in the twisting corridors. Roderic had sent two middle-aged women to accopany them and they looked alike as peas in a pod: long blonde hair intricately curled framing oval faces and deep-set yellow eyes. One was very gregarious and twittered on at length about how successive masters of Bishopscourt Hille had added on and demolished throughout the centuries. "The very core of the building was a residence and ecclesiastical court for the first half dozen Christian bishops who led the church after the religion was brought to New Britain. That's how the house got it's name - Court-of-the-Bishops-in-the-Hills, therefore Bishopscourt Hille."

Her companion was more taciturn and merely smiled while the other prattled away, never letting anyone else get a word in edgewise. She seemed resigned to her fate and gave Edward and Ian sympathetic looks alternated with shrugs or eye rolling while the lecture went on. Even the voluble Pratchett Wodehouse would have trouble speaking over this one, Edward thought wryly. But just as that thought crossed his mind, they passed under a pointed Gothic arch and entered the dining room.
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Dinner was excellent.The soup was a large steaming bowl of New British Cheddar and preceded roast beef in gravy served with baked potatoes and a medly of steamed vegetables. Edward cleaned off his plate with gusto and he could happily eaten more. The main course was followed with something called ladyfingers and cream. Two pairs of the cookies were stuck together with chocolate and covered with a rich cream and then a sort of raspberry gel was piped onto the plate around them. At first,Edward was able to make light conversation with Roderic and other members of the family, but the names and faces began to blur halfway through the meal. His head was starting to droop as dessert was served.

Roderic himself escorted him, Ian and Amelia back to their bedrooms. Even though the time was only eight thirty pm, both the spymaster and his agent planned to go straight to bed because they wanted to return to Londonium soon after sunrise. Edward stumbled across the threshold of his bedroom and he saw someone had turned back the covers and laid a long nightshirt over a screen by the fireplace to warm. It took everything Edward had just to clean his teeth with the provided brush and tooth powder as he was running on fumes now. He returned to the bedroom and undressed, casually tossing the clothes onto a large tapestry chair, but he left the socks on. The nightshirt was very long and it reached to the floor, obliging him to pick up the hem in order to avoid stumbling over it. "Hello, nice bed" he muttered sleepily while he crawled into the huge four poster which creaked slightly as if returning his greeting.

He had more than enough blankets to keep him warm and sighed with contentment after they were all pulled up. His head sunk into a soft white pillow, like a giant marshmallow and all he had to do was reach out one arm to flip the switch on a bedside lamp. The room plunged into almost darkness, lit only by the fitfull glow of the banked and screened fire and Edward plunged into a deep and nearly dreamless sleep.
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Half a mile from Bishopscourt Hille, Sister Janette looked through a pair of binoculars as lights winked out in most of the windows. She and a few of the most dedicated Christianists had eluded the dragnet set up by the Royal Anti-Terrorism Force and fled into the wooded hills around their compound. There they hid under camouflaged blankets until after dark when they crept out. It wasn't pleasant sleeping on damp ground with only a few blankets, but the Christianists were used to rough living and survival techniques in the wild were routine teaching since she'd been a child.

The day which had begun so sacred had turned into a shambles. The first burning had barely begun when the forces of Satan had descended upopn them and saved half of the alchemists. The transfer of the second group of sinners - mostly witches and wizards but also some foreign alchemists they'd kidnapped - began late due to engine troubles. After she'd made a final atempt to convert Alphonse, Janette had ridden along in the truck to the second Burning Ground, intent on making yet one more try. "The Lord is strong within Sister Janette . She will fight with every fiber of her being to save straying souls from Satan's grasp." said the truck driver, but he could have spoken for all of them. Sure they would succeed, they lustily sang hymms all the way.

She was on first watch at the end of the valley when the walkie-talkie crackled with news of the debacle. A black hatred seethed within her as she heard her informer cry out in protest when she was arrested. Janette began to cry and walked several yards away from the others. She started reading her Holy Book for crumbs of comfort when at one point she looked up into the sky just in time to see the gyrocopter.

"They've found us!"

Just as she'd feared, here came more sinners to free their fellows. Janette recognized Edward after the group knelt down to perform their dark art and the sight made her blood run cold. He stood defiant before her Lord and she wished she'd had a gun to send that sinner to Hell. Janette wanted so badly to set the souls of Alphonse and the others free, but it wasn't going to happen and she knew when to cut her losses.

Janette huddled, shivering in her thin blanket and glared at the lights of Bishopscourt Hille. The defilement of that holy place filled her with bitterness, but she had a plan to cleanse it. Her anger and disappointment were felt by everyone with her and also by her Lord. Let the sinenrs live comfortably for a little while longer, but soon the children of God would visit His wrath upon them.