Title: Roughing It (4/7: Den of Thieves)
Author: Jordanna Morgan
Archive Rights: Please request the author's consent.
Rating/Warnings: Mild PG for some fantasy violence.
Disclaimer: If you know them, they belong to Hiromu Arakawa. Only the villains of the piece are mine.
IV: Den of Thieves
Maybe this trip wasn't going to turn out quite so bad as Edward had expected.
That was the conclusion he was warily starting to come around to, as he lay propped against the familiar hardness of Al's armor and waited for sleep to take him. When he reviewed the events of the day, he had to admit that it could have been a lot worse. Sure, the hike hadn't been much fun, Hughes' sap could get a little old, and Mustang was insufferable as ever - but it was just possible that the better moments had outweighed the irritations.
If nothing else, the chance to rub his superior outdoorsmanship in that desk-jockey Mustang's face made it all worthwhile. Considering the whole thing was supposedly the Colonel's idea, Ed hadn't expected him to seem so utterly unprepared and out of place in this situation, and he was relishing it. Just who was it that needed survival training, after all?
As for the presence of Hughes' family, Ed had rather mixed feelings. It was weird to be with them in this rugged setting, instead of at their home in Central; but Gracia was kind as always, and Elicia was an irresistibly sweet and precocious ball of fun. Just the way he had always imagined a little sister would...
Ed grimaced and shifted against Al's side, folding his arms. He didn't want his mind to go there, but somehow it always did. Subtly, inevitably creeping toward the fact that, every time they saw the Hughes family, Elicia had grown a little bigger and reminded him a little more of -
Nina.
It wasn't Elicia's fault. And it wasn't fair. But it still hurt, deep and raw, when an expression on her face or a note in her voice would bring back all Ed's bitterness and self-loathing at his failure to save one innocent child.
Hero of the People. Yeah, sure. That was a good one.
Heaving a gusty sigh, he turned onto his side, closed his eyes, and reminded himself again that Elicia wasn't Nina. Elicia was loved and happy and safe, and she would never, ever be hurt like Nina was.
This time, Ed would never allow it.
Aggressively he shoved aside those thoughts and reached for sleep, trying to absorb something of the somnolent peace of the forest. Beyond the campsite, the steady hum of crickets was punctuated now and then by the distant hoot of an owl. Nearer, there was the soft snap of the fire, an occasional metal-scrape as Al reached over to add more wood to the flames... and Hughes' enthusiastic snoring.
Ed rolled his eyes behind his eyelids. He wondered how Gracia could stand it every night.
It surprised him a little that Mustang was a much more quiet sleeper - but then, the man was probably well-practiced in pretending to be awake while he snoozed at his desk. From him there was only an intermittent twitch, accompanied a few times by a short, sharp mumble that was never quite a word. Except that once or twice, it had sounded like No, and Ed told himself the Colonel was happily dreaming about all the times he said that word to him.
Because, to be truthful, Ed didn't want to contemplate what Mustang might really be reliving in his sleep.
Mentally flinching, Ed returned his focus to the natural sounds of the night. A second owl, somewhat closer, had begun to exchange haunting calls with its companion. Down near the brook, a chorus of frogs peeped and gurgled, and in the brush just beyond the edge of darkness...
His eyes flew open, and his left hand gripped Al's vambrace.
"Did you hear that?" he whispered.
Al's helmet tilted, and he looked around, nonexistent eyes peering past the firelight. "Hear what?"
"Thought I heard something moving in the woods." Ed glanced away with a vague feeling of guilt. His own hearing was exceptional, but the dulling and distorting effect of a steel shell meant that Al's was... not so much. With his lack of physical eyes that could tire, Al was somewhat compensated by a preternaturally keen and constant sense of sight, but that was small comfort to his brother.
Heartbreakingly accustomed to the limits of what senses he had, Al simply offered a slight shrug. "Maybe it was a deer."
"Yeah... maybe."
A bit reluctantly, Ed settled back. He closed his eyes, once more giving sleep an invitation, but his awareness remained sharp and on edge for some time afterward. It seemed like forever before he finally began to slip away into a hazy oblivion...
Al suddenly moved behind him, with a high-pitched warning cry.
"Brother!"
Ed's mind and body were instantly wrenched to full alertness, driven by the instincts of a life long filled with danger. In the space of a breath he was on his feet, his lean frame coiled in readiness, as his senses simultaneously processed the cause of the alarm.
There were strangers in the camp... and the firelight gleamed on the steel of brandished weapons.
Reflexively Ed raised his hands for a clap, and the touch of flesh fingers that would transmute a blade from his automail arm - but one of the intruders was on top of him before his hands could meet, dragging him down to pin his wrists to the ground. A field of blue engulfed his vision, and in some part of his mind, he realized it was the brawny blue-shirted chest of the man who had come for water from the brook.
For a few moments, everything else around him was a blur.
Mustang starting awake to find himself already neutralized, his backpack kicked away and the muzzle of a gun aimed at his head. A quicksilver flash of steel from Hughes' hand; one of the armed men gasped out a cry of pain as the knife found flesh, but another was there to plow a boot into the Major's chest and hurl him backward, coughing and stunned. A short scream from Gracia, as she pulled Elicia against her and crouched over the crying child. Al standing with hands raised in surrender, helpless - not because of the shotgun pointed at his chestplate, but because of the weapons trained on Ed and Mustang and the Hughes family. Unlike him, they were not invulnerable.
"Don't anybody move, and you won't get hurt," growled the man with the shotgun.
The one holding Ed down shifted a little, mercifully removing his knee from the ribs of his captive, and bent his head close to Ed's ear. "That goes double for you, kid. You even think about putting those hands of yours together, and somebody bleeds."
In a flash of clarity, Ed remembered making the clay figures for Elicia, and realized this man must have watched him do it. He might have stood in the bushes beyond the firelight for a long time before Mustang noticed him. Long enough, at least, to grasp the correlation between the clap of Ed's hands and his alchemy.
Having delivered that warning, the man cautiously eased his weight off of Ed and sat back, reaching down into the shadows for something that proved to be a very large sledgehammer. He held it in a light, firm grip of practiced familiarity, with every sign of hair-triggered readiness to let it swing - and Ed did not at all like the way his captor eyed his automail, as if calculating exactly what the hammer could do to it.
Gingerly Ed sat up, paying no heed to the twinging of newly-made bruises on his back and his flesh arm. He passed a quick, anxious gaze over his companions. Elicia was still crying, and although Gracia had the motherly instinct to hold her tight and whisper soothing words, her voice was a trembling whisper of fear. The moment Hughes recovered enough wits to drag himself onto his knees, clutching his chest where he had been kicked, he crawled over to pull his family into a sheltering huddle.
With his wife and daughter in danger, Hughes probably couldn't be relied on to think with a clear head, at least until they got a handle on what was happening. However, Ed was more reassured by the two remaining members of the party. Mustang was still and intent, silently reading the situation, and Al...
Al remained a statue, hands open and unthreatening. Like Ed, he had more than enough experience in circumstances like these, and he knew his warlike appearance drew undue attention and concern from bad guys. His submissive pose was an effort to allay hostility - and curiosity about what was inside his armor. If the secret of his hollowness was exposed, its potential advantages would be lost, to say nothing of the shock to the unknowing Hughes family.
Ed's next sweeping glance took in Sledgehammer's four playmates. One of them was just as big, but shaven-headed, swarthy, and a whole lot uglier; in one hand he held an enormous hunting knife, while the other clutched his left thigh where Hughes' thrown blade had grazed him. In stark contrast to this behemoth stood a svelte, goggle-eyed little weasel who scarcely had two inches on Ed, and was entirely too fidgety with the pearl-handled revolver he held. The next man, armed with a .45 automatic, cut an athletic blond figure that could have been handsome if not for the burn scars on the left side of his face. Lastly there was the shotgun wielder, gray-haired and hawk-nosed, most likely several years older than any of his fellows.
"We don't have much worth stealing," Mustang grated slowly between clenched teeth, his dark eyes full of fire as he too surveyed the band of thugs. "Whatever it is you want, just take it and go."
"Money's not what we're after," Shotgun replied tersely, taking another step back from Al to better cover the rest of the captives. "All of you, get up. You're going places."
Spurred by an eloquent gesture of the shotgun barrels, Hughes squirmed to his feet, still breathless and very pale. Gracia reached up to clutch his hand, but at that moment he was focused on Shotgun as the apparent authority figure.
"Please, just let my wife and kids go." Hughes' voice was steady, but the anxiety in his eyes was thinly veiled. "There's no reason for - "
"Boss'll be the judge of that. Move!" Shotgun ordered, shooting Gracia a look that prompted her to stumble quickly to her feet. She held Elicia's head to her chest, shielding the whimpering child's eyes from the sight of the terror that had descended upon them. Her own face was wet with frightened tears, and she pressed against Hughes as he gathered his girls into as protective an embrace as he could.
There was, at least, one significant piece of information in Shotgun's remark. Evidently he had someone else to answer to.
And yet, later on, what Ed would remember most were Hughes' words that made no distinction between his daughter and the Elric brothers. My wife and kids. Just that simply; just as if he really felt that way. It was probably nothing more than high emotion in the face of a crisis... but still.
Shotgun turned his attention to Mustang next, and narrowed his eyes at the Colonel's clothing. "Military fatigues. The old kind I used to see back in Ishbal... What's your rank, soldier?"
"I was a sergeant," Mustang lied tersely. "And I was discharged two years ago."
"What about that one?" the shifty little man queried, motioning slightly with his revolver. Shotgun's eyes followed the gesture to Al... and the suit of armor quivered. It was a small but distinctly noisy movement.
"I, uh... Wearing this armor is part of my religion," Al stammered.
It wasn't his favorite cover story, but it was probably one of the few that had any chance of getting a pass from these thugs. Sometimes even a hardened criminal could defer to faith. In any case, the excuse itself might have been moot, because the men appeared to be more surprised by the small and tremulous child-voice that spoke from within the steel.
Scarface raised his one existing eyebrow and looked at Shotgun, jerking his head toward Al. "It's just a kid in there!"
"Or it just sounds like a kid," the wounded giant with the hunting knife rumbled, and his voice was as ugly as his face. He limped forward, one hand reaching up suspiciously toward Al's helmet... but he was stopped by gruff words from Shotgun.
"Skip it for now. Cale can sort it out - he told us not to rough these people up any more than we need to. Let's just get moving."
Ugly looked far from satisfied, but he dropped his hand; and Ed breathed out a sigh of relief that was deep enough for himself and Al both.
What followed was a forced march farther up the trail, in the same direction Sledgehammer had gone after fetching water. Under the threat of the gang's weapons, the hapless campers were forbidden to speak, and had no choice but to shuffle along silently in single file. Sledgehammer must have told his pals about Ed's unconventional alchemy, and whether they believed it or not, they took extra precautions with the teenager: his hands were tightly bound to either end of a stout wooden rod cut from a tree. This held them well apart, preventing even the slightest touch of his fingertips.
After some twenty minutes, they reached their destination. Beyond a screen of overhanging branches, the trail abruptly opened onto an acre or so of cleared land that was occupied by three simple wood cabins. Ed vaguely recalled that somewhere in the area, the forest service maintained cabins for use by scout troops, and he surmised these were the ones - commandeered by the thugs while not in legitimate use.
The cabins were a center of activity now, however illicit. A dirt-paved access road led away among the trees, and no less than five automobiles were parked around the edges of the clearing. Electric light glowed from within the middle cabin, but it was diffused by coverings - possibly thick blankets - that had been hung over the windows from the inside. It would be no surprise if these men already had something to hide from the view of any passing hikers.
Ed glanced over his shoulder, but he didn't dare turn around far enough to look at his companions. Apart from Elicia's soft whimpering and the sounds of Al's armor, there was only enforced silence from the others. He knew Al and Mustang would be studying the situation as keenly as he was, in search of weaknesses and tactical options; he could only hope Hughes was doing the same, forcing his military training to overcome his personal feelings. If Hughes couldn't focus beyond the threat to his family, Ed at least hoped the Major would be able to keep his girls calm and out of harm's way, to minimize the distraction for the rest of them as they tried to figure a way out of this.
Of course, the question was still what exactly this was... but as they were led across the front porch of the lighted cabin, to be ushered inside one by one, he suspected they were close to the answer.
Stepping into the cabin's single room, Ed found three new faces there. One was a woman: perhaps in her late thirties, with a sweeping mane of fiery-red hair, and features that might have been attractive if they weren't just a little too hard around the edges. She stood by the covered front window with her hands pressed together, as if she had been caught pacing restlessly. A frown twisted her mouth as she watched the captives being led in - and at the sight of Elicia and Gracia, an even more troubled look flashed through her brown eyes.
Conscience. Whatever was going on here, the redhead was less than happy about it, and Ed duly noted that fact for future reference.
Secondly, to Ed's bemusement, a teenager slouched against one of the three bunk beds at the far side of the room. Lanky and brown-haired, he must have been only a few years older than Ed, but his face and eyes held the stony expression of a youth who had become far more hardened. He looked bored, and in his left hand he held a switchblade, absently flicking it open and shut.
Unnerved by the soft clicking sound of the knife, Ed turned to study the last of the new trio - and there was something about him that gave the alchemist pause. He too was surprisingly young, no more than halfway through his twenties, but he had a poise that set him apart. He wore his black hair carelessly in loose shoulder-length locks and long bangs, and the clothes underneath his gray coat belonged to an affectedly artless fashion trend Ed considered ridiculous. And yet...
It was his eyes, Ed thought. Nearly colorless pale blue, they gazed out from beneath his fringe of errant hair with an intent self-assurance that somehow made a chill crawl down Ed's spine. Regardless of his age, he had the eyes of a man who possessed an exceptional intelligence - and furthermore, who knew it.
He sat with his elbow propped casually on a wooden table, upon which a few dozen objects were arranged. Ed glanced at the collection of drab flotsam, prepared to dismiss it; but then his gaze returned to take in the items more fully. Scattered on the table were chipped pieces of pottery, flint arrowheads and tools, primitive statuettes of carved stone.
Images from less than two days earlier flashed through Ed's mind. The folder he had taken from Hughes at the museum and leafed through with disinterest. Photographs of objects that had vanished in the bloodstained night, while four men were left no longer alive to reveal any clues to their fate.
The items on the table were the artifacts stolen from the Central Museum.
And that meant -
Edward's heart skipped a beat. He looked at the armed men herding Al and the others into the room, and realized the truth: these criminals were far more than merely kidnappers and thieves.
They were cold-blooded murderers as well.
While the captives were pushed into a line as if for inspection, Ed shot a glance at the others. If Al had noticed the artifacts, he didn't recognize them because he hadn't seen the pictures as Ed had, and Mustang had not been at the museum. But Hughes, who stood with his arms wrapped around his wife and daughter, was looking at the pieces on the table. He was very still and pale, and Ed knew he also understood.
With languid elegance, the young man at the table rose and came a few steps closer to the row of prisoners. He stopped directly in front of Ed, and those disquieting eyes took in the peculiar way his hands were restrained.
"Bosh," he addressed the man with the sledgehammer, who stood rather menacingly behind Ed. "You say this boy was the one you saw using alchemy without a transmutation circle?"
So, then: it was an alchemist they were after.
"What are you talking about?" Ed blurted hotly, on impulse. "I don't know anything about alchemy - I'm just a kid!"
The young man bent down, with something that was almost a smile on his lips, and looked Ed in the eye. When he spoke, his voice flowed with a smooth and unsettling calm that matched the ice in his eyes.
"You know, that's the same thing they were saying about me six years ago... while I was planning the robbery of the Central First Bank."
Ed heard Hughes catch his breath faintly, and understood. That must have been another case the Major was familiar with, and from the look in his eyes, the story was not a good one.
Reaching beneath his coat, the young man produced a knife - but his purpose proved to be no more aggressive than cutting the ropes that tied Ed's hands to the rod. A tingling pain crept into Ed's flesh hand as the circulation was restored. He instinctively moved to massage it with his automail fingers, but a warning grunt from Bosh stopped him from bringing his hands close to each other.
Mustang spoke up gruffly, coming to the defense of Ed's lie. "He's telling you the truth. The kid can't even keep his grades up in school, much less learn alchemy." He jerked his head at Bosh. "This goon must have been hallucinating - "
A beefy hand shot out and seized Mustang by the sleeve, jerking him backwards out of the row of prisoners. The other hand made a fist that swung up explosively into the Colonel's stomach, doubling him over in deep gasps of pain.
Elicia started to cry again, and Hughes turned his family away as best he could.
"Nobody calls me a liar," Bosh growled, and looked up at the icy-eyed young man, whose role as the leader of the gang was now clear. "I know what I saw, Cale."
"You can't see something that didn't happen!" Ed snarled. He knew the pretense was flimsy, but it was all they had right now.
Cale sighed and folded his arms. For a moment, he studied Ed thoughtfully... and when his arms slid apart in one swift movement, the knife had somehow reappeared in his hand.
Ed gasped and vaulted backwards as the blade swept down toward his chest.
Distantly he heard a scream from Gracia, but his senses were far more preoccupied by the fact that Cale was coming at him again. The slashing knife barely missed his cheek as he recoiled. He dodged another strike, raised his automail arm to shield himself, felt steel clash jarringly as the blade met the strong outer plating. Even as Ed backed away, Cale's knife kept raining heavy blows, more than once coming close to vulnerable connections in the joints of the metal arm. Cale was lithe but tall, enabling him to bear down on Ed too hard for the younger fighter to shift any advantage to himself - and then Ed felt his shoulders hit the wall behind him.
Alright, then.
Gritting his teeth, Ed struck his palms together, and his flesh fingers darted up to the plating of his forearm. Blue light flared as the steel warped and lengthened, its edges honed to a razor's fineness. He pushed off from the wall and met Cale's momentum with his own, deflecting the knife with his much larger shielding blade.
The young gang leader suddenly drew back... and Ed froze as well when he heard the sound of a gun being cocked.
It was all too obvious. Cale's attack was a test, and he had learned exactly what he wanted to know.
Panting slightly, Ed looked over at his own allies. The little man had his revolver shoved under Hughes' throat, and from the Major's stance, it seemed as if that weapon was the only thing to have stopped him from coming to Ed's aid. Mustang had not moved; he was still reeling from Bosh's punch, and Ed suspected he knew it was futile to try to intervene anyway. Al had taken a step forward, but now his hands were raised, his surrender forced once again by the danger to the others rather than to himself.
Ed didn't see Gracia and Elicia at first. His anxious glance finally tracked them to a corner of the room, where someone must have pushed them. The red-haired woman had moved closer to them, and while she didn't exactly look consoling, it seemed she had deliberately positioned herself between them and the roughhousing. Ed marked that in her favor, too.
"Brother! Are you okay?" Al's voice quivered with concern.
Grimacing at the ugly feeling that he had lost a battle of wits as well as force, Ed slowly dropped his automail arm to his side. "...Yeah."
Cale slid his knife back under his coat. He was winded too, but he smiled crookedly as he eyed the blade Ed had transmuted.
"There we are," he said lightly, between deep draws of breath. "All that trouble, and so pointless. Not that I blame you for trying to lie to me..." His eyes sharpened with calculating interest. "It is quite the talent you have."
"What made you so sure?" Ed ground out, and Cale chuckled.
"You see, I trust my friends. If Bosh tells me he saw a boy using alchemy without a circle, I take him at his word. Now the only question is: how much do you value your friends?"
A faintly sick feeling knotted in Ed's insides as he glanced back at Al, Mustang, and the Hughes family. The implication was clear enough. Cale and his gang intended to have him put his alchemy to their use, whatever that might be - and the lives of his fellow captives were the leverage that would force him to obey.
"Lose the blade," Cale ordered. " - Very carefully."
Slowly, with his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, Ed brought his hands together. He touched his blade and retracted it, returning the steel of his arm to its normal shape.
At the disappearance of the weapon, Cale's thugs relaxed slightly. The little man took his gun from under Hughes' chin, but it remained poised threateningly enough to keep him from moving over to join his family.
"What do you want with me?" Ed snapped.
"Something very simple." Cale turned and strode back to the table littered with artifacts. "You might have heard about some goings-on at the Central Museum of History recently. That was us."
A small gasp echoed within Al's armor, but he had the sense not to say anything. Neither Hughes nor Mustang let any reaction show.
"The whole point of it was to pick up these. Not much to look at, but apparently someone up north is very interested in them." Cale nudged one of the artifacts, a stone figurine. "Our problem now is taking them across the border. We need a way to hide them from inspections... and that's where you come in."
Ed followed the logic, and his eyes widened.
"You want me to transmute them," he breathed. "What better way to hide something than in plain sight - as something else?"
"Oh, you are good." Cale raised an eyebrow admiringly. "It's true. I do want you to disguise the artifacts, by completely changing their shape. As a matter of fact, I've tried it myself, but..." He gestured to the floor beneath the table, and for the first time Ed noticed what appeared to be several ordinary pieces of flint and broken pottery. Test samples, he realized; but he could easily see that these transmuted specimens did not turn out well. They were warped and discolored, their composition damaged by unskilled alchemy.
"I only recently began to study alchemy," Cale sighed. "I've had very little time to learn... and frankly, it seems I have no aptitude for it."
That explained the poorly-done transmutations at the museum - but Ed knew better than to think that failing was any disparagement on Cale's intelligence or other skills. Alchemy required a special set of instincts. Not everyone had it within them to master it, no matter how brilliant they might be in other ways.
Cale's brilliance lay not in alchemy, but in strategy; and, Ed suspected, in reading people. The way he dealt with both comrades and prisoners was frighteningly perceptive.
"I don't suppose I need to ask what happens if I refuse," Ed muttered in a low voice, glaring up at the young mastermind.
"Let's not. There's no need for this to be unpleasant." Cale shrugged casually. "You only have to do this little bit of work for me. Then, once we're safely across the border, and you've transmuted the artifacts to their original forms again... all of you can go."
His voice was like poisoned honey, but the lightness in it did not touch his eyes. Ed knew with a chill of certainty that he was lying - and the fact that Cale's followers did not protest his benevolence only proved it. They were also sure their new hostages would not be allowed to live, any more than those four guards at the museum were. Perhaps they might spare Elicia as too young to be a threat to them, but the rest of the captives' fates were decided before they had ever been brought here.
A soft hiss of indrawn breath came from Hughes. He knew it as well, and Ed could feel the raw edge of desperation the husband and father was balanced on.
Not yet.
Rash action would do them no good now. They needed time to watch and think, to find just one small chance in this deadly trap.
"Alright," Ed surrendered bleakly. "But if you want me to put back the artifacts exactly the way they are later on, I'll have to study them first. If you've had any practice with alchemy at all, you at least ought to understand that."
"Of course." Cale gestured magnanimously toward the table. "You can have as much time as you need - within reason. In the meantime, we'll do our best to make you comfortable."
Ugly spoke up then for the first time since they had entered the cabin, chucking a thumb at Alphonse. "That include making the tin man take off the suit, Boss?"
Every nerve in Ed's body coiled tight as Cale turned those frightening eyes to Al.
"You said you're the alchemist's brother?"
Al's steel drew itself up a little more rigidly, and there was only the smallest tremor in his voice when he answered. "Yes."
"Hm..." Cale rubbed his chin, studying the apparently metal-clad child as if he was some kind of puzzle.
"He told us the armor's a religious thing," Shotgun offered.
"Is that so? Thank you, Ranold." Cale turned from his older confederate to Al. "In that case you can keep it, at least for now - if only because I don't want to upset your brother when he has such delicate work to do. But understand, it means we'll be watching you all the more closely."
The decree made Ugly look thoroughly disappointed; but Al, with his perpetual grace of manners, somehow managed to relax a little and give a very slight bow. "Th-thank you..."
"And that leaves just one more detail." Cale stepped back, intently surveying the six captives. "If we leave all of you together, you might start to get ideas. I think it would be safer all around if we separate you - and having your weakest link out of your reach should be the best thing to keep you gentlemen in line."
He turned to Ugly and the man named Ranold, and made a small gesture toward Gracia and Elicia.
"Grund, Ranold... Please remove the ladies to the cabin next door."
At that order, Grund made a throaty rumbling noise that expressed satisfaction - and a sickening kind of interest. He turned to Hughes' family with a monstrous calculation in his eyes.
Still holding the sobbing Elicia in her arms, Gracia let out a scream as Grund seized her by the shoulders and twisted her toward the door... and that was all the provocation Hughes' fraying composure needed to unravel completely.
"No! Gracia! Elicia!" Wild-eyed with anguish, and heedless of the surrounding roomful of hair-triggered weapons, Hughes lunged forward. He barely slipped past Al's hands as the armored boy reached out to hold him back - and Ed saw the muzzle of the little man's gun twitch upward again, aiming for Hughes' heart.
Colonel Mustang took one quick step that brought him between Hughes and the gun. In that swift moment of movement and confusion, before the little man's brain could tell his nerves to squeeze the trigger, Mustang's knuckles shot straight up into the underside of Hughes' jaw.
For an instant as Hughes folded, there was shocked betrayal on his face, but his friend never flinched.
The thump of Hughes' collapse onto the floorboards seemed to break a momentary spell. As Ed gasped in the breath that had been caught on his lips for those last few seconds, he realized there was no gunshot; and only then did he feel himself trembling in a belated release of fear.
Bemused by the unexpected removal of the threat, the little man lowered his revolver. Bosh and Scarface similarly relaxed their grip on their own weapons. The boy with the switchblade had never moved at all, and sat watching the short-lived drama with aloof interest.
Somewhere in the confusion, Grund had already dragged Gracia out the door. Ed could hear Elicia's frightened cries for her Daddy receding in the direction of the next cabin. Ranold was gone too, and Ed desperately hoped the older man would keep his beast of a comrade in check.
Unperturbed through it all, Cale regarded Hughes' unconscious form on the floor, and then turned to Mustang with a harsh smile. "That was prudent of you."
Edward recognized the barely-perceptible shudder of rage that passed through Mustang's shoulders. The Colonel bared his teeth and drew a breath, but before he could speak, the redhead stepped quickly to Cale's side.
"Cale, I don't like this." She gripped his arm, searching his eyes. "It was never supposed to be like this. Not with women or children. And you know Grund is - "
"Easy, Mar." Cale laid his right hand on her shoulder, as his left hand caressed a lock of scarlet hair that fell across her cheek. It was a lover's touch, a tender gesture that spoke plainly of a far deeper connection between them. "It's going to be alright. Just leave it all to me... and when we're in Drachma, everything will be different, the way I said it would. You'll see."
The woman appeared to be comforted little by his words. She held his gaze for a long moment with hardness in her eyes, and then she looked to Mustang.
"Tell your friend I... I won't let anything happen to his wife and daughter," she said quietly. "I promise."
Without a glance back at Cale, she turned and hurried from the cabin, and Ed realized he somehow felt just a little reassured - at least for Gracia and Elicia's immediate future. Something in the woman's eyes and voice told him she meant what she said, and he had a feeling she was a force to be reckoned with.
This man Cale would never have bothered with her if she wasn't.
Somewhat jadedly, Cale watched her departure. Then he turned to the teenager, who was still lounging against a bunk and blandly flicking his switchblade. "Go with her, Dex."
The youth straightened and scowled. "Come on, Cale. Just because Mareen is my cousin, that doesn't make her my babysitt - "
"Now, Dex."
If Cale's gentleness toward his woman had created any doubt about his authority, it was erased by those two iron words. Cowed, Dex quickly pushed off from the bunk and went after Mareen.
"That's better." Cale glanced at Ed, with a smug little grin the young alchemist wanted to put his metal fist through. "Other people's relatives can be such trouble... But then, I'm sure you're well aware of that just now." His eyes flicked eloquently toward the doorway through which Gracia and Elicia had been taken.
Seething, Ed clenched his hands tight and glared up at Cale's amused face. "I swear to you, if you hurt them - "
"I've already told you, that's very much up to you." Cale spread a hand toward the table. "The sooner you get started, the sooner we can part ways."
Parting ways, Ed thought, was the most elegant phrase he had ever heard used to describe murder.
Drawing in a deep breath to still his futile anger, he glanced at Al and Mustang. Presumably with the approval of Cale's watchful thugs, the two had moved Hughes' limp figure to one of the lower bunks. Al was examining the bruise under Hughes' chin, but Ed caught Mustang's eye for a brief moment, and the Colonel nodded gravely.
There was no need to say anything. Ed knew there was one imperative on both of their minds: buy time. It was his most critical task now, and his nod in return was a promise to gain every last second he could.
Slowly Ed marched over to the table and sat down. As he did so, he was aware of Cale turning to investigate the campers' backpacks, which the kidnappers had brought up along with the campers themselves.
"Here, Ferdy," Cale said mildly, addressing the little man as he bent down beside the packs. "Let's have a look."
Ed felt suddenly grateful that he and the others had left their assorted forms of identification, including his and Mustang's pocketwatches, in the Hughes family's car back at the lodge. Cale may have had Ed pegged for a young alchemic prodigy, but if they were lucky - and if Mustang gave as good an appearance of total ignorance as he could when he wasn't trying - perhaps they could still keep the mastermind from realizing he had two more alchemists and a military investigator on his hands.
Except...
"Hey, Boss." Ferdy straightened from his crouch over Mustang's backpack, holding up two familiar pieces of white cloth with red stitching. "Is that alchemy?"
Cale's eyebrows shot up, and he reached out for the gloves.
"They're definitely transmutation circles. More advanced than anything I've learned, but..." He brushed his thumb over the stitched figure of a salamander on one glove. "I know this symbol relates to fire."
"Ignition-cloth gloves," Scarface murmured from his position at one side of the room, grimly stroking the barrel of his pistol.
"Then you know something about them, Tegan?"
"Enough to know they're just about the worst things any sick mind ever invented. I seen 'em used in Ishbal - real close up. Still see 'em in my nightmares." Tegan grunted, touching the scars on the side of his face. "Some of those State Alchemists... weren't exactly too particular about who got in their way."
Caressed by the ghost of an unease he knew and hated, Ed shot a glance at Mustang. The face of the celebrated war hero had become a mask, but for just a moment, there was something lurking in his eyes that Ed didn't like at all.
"The gloves are mine," Ed snarled quickly, and when Cale looked at him with renewed interest, he chucked a contemptuous steel thumb toward Mustang. "If he hadn't taken them away from me, your creeps would've been toast the moment they walked into our camp."
To his credit, Mustang understood Ed's attempt to cover for him, and played along without so much as a blink. "As I recall, you started a forest fire last time."
"It was your fault!" Cranky petulance was a tone that came to Ed all too easily when he was around Mustang - but if a display of childishness would do anything at this point to help downplay the intellect Cale had sensed in him, he was willing to go with it.
Whatever else it may have suggested to Cale, the exchange caused him to laugh lightly. "How interesting..." He stood up and moved closer to the table, clutching the gloves tightly in his fist, and his expression grew more intent. "You really are a boy genius. I'm told fire alchemy is one of the most difficult kinds to learn."
Ed glowered. It was an expression that had not a little to do with memories of Mustang rubbing his nose in that fact, on the typically disastrous occasions when he had tried to pick up the skill himself.
"For everyone's good, I'll just keep these close." The gloves disappeared beneath Cale's coat. "There's no fire involved in what I've asked you to do. Considering your other talents, I don't know whether you really need the arrays for it or not, but just in case..." He glanced at his three remaining comrades in the room. "Under no circumstances is a fire to be lit in the fireplace. And Ferdy - hand over your matches, please."
Ferdy's shoulders slumped. "Aw, Boss..."
"I don't want you getting careless. If you have to smoke, you can check in with me first."
With a deep sigh, Ferdy produced a matchbook and tossed it to his leader. Cale pocketed it, and then turned to glance around at his prisoners, an insolent satisfaction written on his face.
"And that covers all of the bases, I think. Now pardon me for not staying to keep you company, but I have preparations to make for the journey north." The next words he directed at Ed specifically. "If you need something, just ask one of the boys. I'll leave you to your work - and for the sake of your brother and your friends, I know you'll do well."
Cale sauntered out of the cabin then, leaving three highly alert and well-armed thugs on guard... and however unnerving the leader's presence was, Ed had a bad feeling that the captives were anything but safer in his absence.
© 2012 Jordanna Morgan
