FMA fic: Transient (part 3)

[glassshoe]

As Ed woke, reality washed away his dreams, removing the memory of them but leaving behind a dull ache in his chest, an empty hole that he didn’t know how to fill.

He woke gradually enough and in an uncomfortable enough position that he remembered exactly where he was (the sheriff’s station) and what he’d been doing (getting pissed off at the sheriff’s son) before he’d fallen asleep.

Ed could see from the way that the light was slanting through the barred window that it was late morning. The air still felt damp, though not as cold as it had been last night. He supposed that had to do with the pot-bellied stove glowing merrily in the corner, a teakettle sitting on top, whistling softly. Before the kettle could reach ear-piercing volume a tall man with a thick, dark beard stepped into Ed’s line of sight and pulled it off the stove. He began to pour steaming water into a mug that he held in his other hand. When he looked up from his task his eyes fell on Ed.

“Oh, good morning, Mr. Elric,” he said. His voice was deep, almost rumbling, but upbeat, friendly.

Ed raised his head. Someone, probably Al, had stripped his red coat off of him during the night and laid it across his body like a blanket. Ed sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bunk. His heel came into contact with a moveable object underneath the bunk: his suitcase. Ed knew that was Al’s doing too. Al was always picking up after him, cleaning his messes and smoothing things over after Ed had roughed them up. Ed didn’t know what he’d do without his younger brother.

The man with the teakettle yawned widely. He said, “Pardon me. Your brother and I stayed up most of the night talking. We don’t get much sleep around here during festival time anyway.”

Ed glanced around, looking for Al, but it appeared to be just the two of them this morning. Even the bunk that Walter had been sleeping on was empty. Ed noticed the deputy-sized impression in the thin mattress and concluded that Walter’s naps were the rule rather than the exception.

“You must be the sheriff,” Ed said. His voice was hoarse and he had to clear his throat after he spoke.

“I must be,” he agreed. “Greg Biggs,” he introduced himself. “You met my son last night?”

Ed’s memory coughed up a name, “Mason, yeah.” He also remembered how short he’d been with the older boy.

“He’s showing your brother around town. Figured you could use the peace and quiet. Tea?” the sheriff offered.

Ed had been hoping for coffee but he supposed he should be polite to make up for his bad manners last night. “Yes, please.”

The sheriff poured a second mug of hot water and added some loose tea leaves from a canister on a shelf above the stove. He brought both of the mugs into the cell that Ed had claimed for himself last night and sat down on the bunk across from him. Ed leaned forward to accept the steaming mug from him with a gravelly “Thanks.” Even though the liquid was too hot to drink it felt good just to hold the cup near his face and inhale the steam that was wafting off of it. Holding the teacup also gave him an excuse not to shake the sheriff’s hand. Shaking hands meant revealing that his right arm was prosthetic, and in Ed’s limited experience that usually led to unwanted questions.

“I would have found you a better place to sleep if I had known the two of you were going to be arriving so soon.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. It was my decision to change our travel plans at the last minute.”

The sheriff waved him off, “Don’t be. I appreciate the extra trouble you took to get here so quickly. In fact I’m sorry that we didn’t offer you better accommodations last night. Mason and I share the apartment upstairs, when he’s not away at school at least. It’s small but I think you’ll find it much more comfortable than a cot in a jail cell.”

“I’ve slept on worse,” Ed said indifferently.

“Still, we haven’t been very good hosts, especially since your brother tells me you’ve been under the weather for a few days.”

The word ‘under’ triggered Ed’s automatic response, just like the words ‘short’, ‘small’, ‘tiny’, ‘miniscule’, ‘petite’ and any other words that might be used to describe someone’s height. The context in which the words were used was unimportant.

“Hey, that’s not fair! I haven’t even stood up yet!”

The sheriff seemed to take his abbreviated outburst in stride, which gave Ed the sneaking suspicion that Al had primed the sheriff on Ed’s temper and his aversion to comments about his stature.

Ed felt sort of betrayed.

Maybe the sheriff hadn’t meant to make a joke about Ed’s height but the only thing that saved him from having his head bitten off was the fact that Ed still was too tired to give the sheriff a taste of his temper. Ed was more than tired, really. The lure of the hard, lumpy mattress was like a siren’s song but he knew that if he let himself lie back down he knew he wouldn’t be getting back up for the rest of the day.

As it turned out, Sheriff Biggs was also a mind reader: “If you’d like to rest a little longer-”

Ed perked up. “No, that’s alright. The sooner we solve your problem the sooner Al and I can get back to East City.”

The sheriff frowned. He seemed more than a little concerned about what Ed was saying and for the life of him, Ed couldn’t understand why.

“The colonel said you were young, but I never expected you to be younger than my Mason.”

“Experience counts for a lot, you know,” Ed ground out.

“No offense intended, young man. Believe me. But you must be how old? Thirteen?”

“Fifteen,” Ed told him, even though he was rounding up. He wouldn’t be fifteen for a few months.

The sheriff shook his head. “So the military is forcing children to do their dirty work now.”

“Nobody’s forcing me to do anything. I joined the military for my own reasons.” Ed made sure that the firm tone of his voice if not his words communicated that he wasn’t about to discuss with him what those reasons were.

Their eyes met for a beat and the sheriff seemed to understand that. He took Ed’s statement in stride. “Even so, I’d keep that out of sight if you can help it,” he said, pointing to the silver chain that connected Ed’s pocket watch to his belt. “You’ll find that people around here don’t have much appreciation for the military.”

It seemed like good enough advice, particularly given that there was an imposter on the loose.

Ed slid his hand down to his belt and he unhooked the chain, tucking it into his pocket.

The sheriff nodded his approval. “I’ve got no reason to believe that this ‘Mustang’ isn’t as greedy and self-righteous as every other colonel who has been through the Eastern command center, but I’m willing to take a chance. That’s more than I can say for the rest of Rhuel.”

“Oh, he’s self-righteous alright,” Ed assured him, “and pompous and arrogant and smug and manipulative…but he’s a also a decent leader. If he says he’s going to do something, he does it.” Although it burned Ed to have to admit it, he knew what he was saying was the truth.

Biggs stared at him for a moment, then his shoulders began to shake and Ed realized that he was laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“That’s the most honest answer I’ve heard out of a military man in my life.”

Ed wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he drank his tea instead. His sore throat welcomed the relief and he drained it quickly.

“So, tell me about this guy. Leon?”

The sheriff rose to refill Ed’s mug and over the next half hour Ed drank his way through almost the entire pot of tea while Biggs explained the circumstances under which Ed had been sent to Rhuel.

Apparently Leon Mueller had appeared in Rhuel about a week ago at the start of the festival. Dozens of people who lived on the east side of town had reported a strong earthquake around the same time. No one was injured and the rest of the town felt nothing and believed that it must not have been very severe, but when Biggs visited the victims to inspect the damage he found collapsed chimneys, cracked foundations, even fissures in the earth, which were all signs of a major upheaval. Before he could make a complete tour of the damaged area he discovered that a young man calling himself a state alchemist had already visited several of the properties and commenced repairs. The homeowners were initially grateful for the help, and even chastised the sheriff for responding more slowly to their plight than a complete stranger. Their gratitude turned to anger and resentment when the repairs that the alchemist had made began to crumble. A chimney collapsed nearly injuring a young girl, a man’s roof caved in, and of course they’d already heard about Wilhelmina Bosch and her hydrangeas.

“We’ll start there, see if we can’t fix things.”

“She’ll be happy to see you,” Biggs smiled at his own comment. Ed wondered what the inside joke was and at the same time dreaded finding out.

Ed trusted his first impressions. The sheriff seemed like a man who knew who he was and where he was going. He had old eyes, the kind you don’t get from living a comfortable life in a quiet town.

Ed decided that he liked this man, but at the same time Ed was wary of him.

“So what else did you find out from the victims?” Ed asked.

“Nothing too helpful. They all gave me roughly the same description: a young man in his late teens or early twenties, thin frame, dark hair and dark eyes, dressed in civilian clothes and carrying a silver pocket watch with the state seal embossed on it. He said his name was Leon Mueller, but I’ve never heard that name before today. Maybe he came here for the festival. I’m not sure. We have a pretty regular crowd during festival time but new faces crop up every year. I’ve been circulating his description. He’s been spotted around town by reliable witnesses on at least three days this past week.”

“Someone has to be putting him up,” Ed said.

“Right, and the inns have been completely booked up this past week. I have pretty close ties with the innkeepers, so if one of them were housing him, I would know. He must be getting help from someone, a friend or a family member.”

“Are you sure he hasn’t left town?”

“It’s possible, but I don’t think so. The only easy way to get in and out of town is by rail. Someone would have spotted him. Besides, it seems like there’s more to this story.”

“Yeah?”

“The festival draws a lot of scientists from the geological community. When they first heard about the earthquake they were very excited at the possibility of finding a fault line near Rhuel. It was all the talk for the first few days. They began to ask questions and gather information, and what they concluded was that the earthquake couldn’t possibly have had a natural cause.”

“Rocks and gems seem to be your specialty in this town. There must be mines nearby, am I right?”

“We used to mine for sapphires, but those mines have been played out for twenty years. We import most of our precious stones, but we still have some of the best gem cutters and jewelers in the East. That’s what keeps the tourism trade going.”

“Could a cave-in in one of the old mines could have caused the earthquake?” Ed asked, narrowing the possibilities down to the inevitable conclusion.

The sheriff shook his head. “Those old mines are in the hills outside of town. There’s no way that anyone would have felt the earth move that far away.”

Ed nodded. He didn’t bother stating the obvious: that the earthquake wasn’t an earthquake, but a tremor caused by alchemic reaction.

The sheriff continued, “That’s the other reason why I think Leon Mueller might still be around, and why he felt the need to try to help out in the first place.”

“Yeah, he feels responsible.”

Behind Ed the front door banged open and Al’s cheerful voice entered before he did, “Brother, you’re awake! We brought breakfast.”

Behind Al’s hulking armor frame Ed saw Mason and a girl who looked roughly Mason’s age. Her long black hair was tied into a ponytail that reached her waist and she was carrying a cloth-covered basket. A warm, sweet, homey smell followed her into the room.

“Alphonse, I was just getting your brother caught up,” Biggs said. He stood and collected his Ed’s mugs to refill.

“Brother, this is Zelda,” Al motioned to the girl with the basket. “She’s a friend of Mason’s and she works at the bakery. She’s really nice. Look, she made cinnamon rolls for us!”

Although no one else could probably tell, Al was looking at the girl with what Ed had learned to interpret as affection.

At his kind words Zelda smiled up at Al, cheeks red like she’d just come in out of the cold. Behind the two of them Mason looked like he’d tasted something bitter, and Ed would wager half his research budget that there was more between Mason and Zelda than just friendship, or at least that’s what Mason thought.

Zelda smiled shyly and set he basket down on the desk. “If you’re here to help out Mason and Sheriff Biggs it’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks, they smell great,” Ed said, but his words came out with less enthusiasm than he intended. He was sure that the rolls did smell great, but his cold had both dulled his senses and stolen his appetite. Right now he was more interested in solving this case than he was in eating.

“When you boys get hungry just come by the shop. I’ll make something up for you.”

“Please don’t go to any trouble- ” Al protested.

“It’s no trouble. Besides, these two can’t cook and we can’t have you going hungry.”

Ed said, trying to be polite, “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

“You’re welcome, Edward. If you’ll excuse me I need to get back to work. It’s always busy in the morning and I promised that I’d only be gone a minute. I just had to come by and meet you.”

“I’ll walk you back to the shop,” Mason volunteered. On his way out he cast a warning look over his shoulder at Al, which Al missed completely because he was waving goodbye to Zelda.

Al sighed when the door closed behind her.

“She’s a sweet girl,” the sheriff said. “I’d take her up on lunch if I were you. The restaurants at the inns are always packed and I’m afraid she wasn’t kidding when she said we couldn’t cook. Boiling water is about the extent of my skills in the kitchen.”

“Thanks, we’ll keep that in mind,” Ed said. Meanwhile Al busied himself unloading the basket. It looked like Zelda had brought more than just breakfast. There were two loaves of bread as well as several small jars of preserves and what looked like slabs of butter and cheese wrapped in wax paper. The sheriff didn’t have any plates, but fortunately Zelda seemed to know that. She’d wrapped each cinnamon roll in a checkered cloth napkin. Al brought one for the sheriff and one for Ed.  “Here you go, brother,” Al said. He even took one for himself, which Ed knew that he would pretend to eat, but actually hide away for Ed. It was a trick that Al had come up with, and it was handy because Al didn’t need to eat and Ed typically ate like he was the one with two hollow legs. The only problem with their system was if Al hid something away and then forgot about it. Ed would only find out if Al remembered or if his armor started to smell, and the cleanup was a pain. Al’s armor had a lot of nooks and crannies where things could get stuck.

Ed accepted the roll with a nod of thanks. It looked good: still warm and the icing just starting to cool and form a sugary translucent shell on the top. When Ed took a bite the dough was soft and sweet and the cinnamon was strong. He thought that these must be a house specialty, or at the very least Zelda’s own specialty. Nevertheless he could only get a few mouthfuls down before eating became too much bother.

Ed wrapped up the rest of his cinnamon roll. After all, he might want it later.

Al was watching him carefully. “You’re not hungry?” he asked.

“We can eat on the road. I’ve wasted too much time already.”

Having neatly sidestepped Al’s question Ed turned to the sheriff and asked, “Can you point us in the direction of Mrs. Bosch’s place?”

The sheriff frowned. “I thought I’d escort you boys out there this morning.”

Ed waved a hand dismissively. He didn’t want or need the sheriff tagging along. As much as he hated to admit it, it was costing him too much effort to engage the man in conversation, and he had a feeling that he would need a good amount of energy and patience for his encounter with Mrs. Bosch.

“That’s alright. We work better on our own.”

Ed stood, and the blood in his head rushed towards his feet.

Now, the physical part of Ed’s early alchemy training had been just a water board shy of torture. At the moment, that training was the only thing keeping him upright while his vision swam with black dots. Ed stayed still for a moment, clinging stubbornly to consciousness until the darkness receded from the corners of his vision. What the sheriff probably took for a thoughtful pause, Al would be able to recognize as dizziness, unless of course he hadn’t been paying attention.

“Brother…”

No such luck.

Ed continued to speak to the sheriff as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “Besides, with the festival in town you must be pretty busy. I don’t want to drag you away from your duties for something that we’re perfectly capable of handling on our own. So where did you say she lives again?”

The sheriff hadn’t said in the first place but he stuttered out an address, still looking taken-aback by Ed’s refusal of assistance. He offered to draw a map for them, even got out paper, though the only blank sheets that he had quick access to were tucked into one of Mason’s textbooks. Ed shook his head. Now that his body was upright it was sending him signals to either get moving or lie back down and go to sleep. No third option, and he’d better pick one before it decided for him.

Ed made for the door.

“We’ll find out what’s what and catch up to you later. C’mon, Al.”

Al’s helmet swiveled uncertainly between the sheriff, who was still at his desk with a pen poised over his son’s homework, and his brother, who was gathering momentum as he moved toward the open front door.

“Wait, Brother!” For someone so much taller than his older brother, Al spent a lot of time hurrying to catch up with him.

“Thank you for all of your help, Sheriff,” Al said hurriedly. “We’ll check back in with you this afternoon.”

If the sheriff had time to respond or even to wave goodbye Ed wasn’t there to see it.

Following the directions that the sheriff had given him (and with Al’s clanking footsteps following in his wake) Ed started to head south along the street that ran in front of the sheriff’s station. In broad daylight he could now see that this was Rhuel’s main arterial road. Unlike the avenues that sprouted off to either side it was paved and nearly every building was two stories tall and made of brick or some other type of stone. There were businesses on the first floor and presumably apartments on the top. As Ed made his way down the street he spotted a bank, a pharmacy, and several restaurants and of course the inns that he and Al had visited when they arrived in town, and a building that Ed assumed must be the town hall. All of the businesses that didn’t revolve around the everyday operation of the town appeared to have something to do with minerals, rocks, gems or jewelry, and all of these had tables or booths set up in front of them. The tables and booths were as crowded with wares as the street itself was crowded with people.

Judging by their attire the festival attendees had come from all over Amestris and beyond. Ed brushed past a group of men in fur-trimmed dusters who were having an animated discussion in a guttural language that Ed didn’t understand, probably Drachman. Across the way a tiny woman was engaged in a heated bartering session with a shopkeeper over a gaudy broach in the shape of a peacock. The woman was dressed in silks and had the dark hair and olive skin common to Xingans. As Ed watched, the woman stomped her foot and pointed animatedly down the road toward another stand selling similar wares.

With so many strangers Al would be able to wander freely about town without drawing attention. Ed was grateful for that. When the two of them visited new places Al often worried that his appearance would frighten people. Ed himself saw no reason for his brother’s concern because no matter what he looked like Al’s gentle nature shone through. Ed’s faith in that was stronger than Al’s, though, and so for Al’s sake Ed was glad whenever they visited a place that was full of strangers so that they could move about in relative anonymity. It could sometimes be difficult to come up with a plausible reason why a thirteen-year-old boy would be wearing a suit of armor everywhere he went.

In the middle of the chaos Ed noticed a small shop with a red and white striped awning and several wrought iron chairs and tables out in front. The tables were packed with patrons who were busily drinking coffee and enjoying breakfast pastries like the one that was wrapped up and cooling in Ed’s pocket. Loaves of bread were lined up like soldiers in the front window and just past them Ed’s eyes picked out the tan and brown livery of Rhuel’s law enforcement. Mason was standing at the counter, or, leaning over it really, waving and gesturing animatedly. Zelda popped into view behind the counter, straightening up as she removed a tray of muffins from an oven. She was laughing so hard at something that Mason had said that she nearly dropped them and had to dive towards the nearest available surface to set them down.

Ed stopped in the middle of the street to watch them, arms hanging limply at his sides.

Al caught up to him.

“Mason is actually very helpful. He showed me around town this morning and introduced me to some of the people who live here. Really, brother, you should try to be nicer to people who are trying to help us,” Al scolded him.

“I know,” Ed said.

He wondered why watching two people who were obviously so happy should make him so sad.

“Maybe I should go in there and apologize for being so short with him last night.” Then Ed pulled a face, realizing what he’d just said. Al wisely let it go, and Ed was glad that he couldn’t tell whether or not Al was smiling, though he got the distinct impression that if Al had a human body, he would have been.

“You know what I mean!” Ed snapped. Then he gave a defeated sigh, “Never mind. Looks like he’s busy right now anyway. I’ll apologize later. Let’s just go.”

“You still look tired, brother. I can take care of this. You should rest.”

Ed was used to life in the military, to constant travel, bad food and horrible accommodations. He was used to walking for miles with a tireless suit of armor by his side. And even when Ed was well rested and well fed, his stumps still ached with sudden changes in the weather, sometimes so bad that it made him nauseous, and there wasn’t anything that he could do about it except push through the pain and hope that it spit him out on the other side. So the idea that he was going to sit this one out just because he felt a little tired was ridiculous.

“Don’t be silly. I’m not going to spend this whole mission just lying around, Al. Besides, I can’t just sit back and let you do my dirty work.”

“Really, Ed, You have to take care of yourself. Did you even take your medicine this morning?”

Ed’s hand tightened around the paper package still crumpled in his coat pocket. It was right under his cinnamon roll, which he also had no intention of putting in his mouth at the moment.

“I feel a little better this morning,” he said, trying to decide whether or not that was true.

Al made a sound that was at once doubtful and exasperated.

“Please, Al, let’s just get this over with,” Ed whined. “You let me sleep in forever this morning and we’re here already, so we’re committed.”

“Fine,” Al conceded, clenching his fists at his side, “but you’re taking your medicine at lunch time and if you start to feel like you might be sick, we’re turning back.”

“I’ll be fine,” Ed assured him. “It’s just a lousy cold. I’ll fight it off.”

"I mean it, Ed."

Ed opened his mouth to reply but one look at Al and Ed decided that his energy was better spent finding the rogue alchemist than arguing with his little brother. When Al made up his mind about something he stood his ground so stubbornly that no one could doubt that the two of them were related.

To be continued... Part 4

Thank you for reading. Feedback is welcome. I was a little rushed posting this chapter, so please let me know if you see something wrong.