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" during the late fall of 1924, and January 1926.

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

Cologne, October/November, 1924

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. The 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 Roy 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 left feet, he was quite 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, the 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.

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 considere 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."

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, plus 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 past 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 through the glass panes in the doors, he assumed the stairs 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 the younger man'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 or oil 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, like that popular American actress called 'The It Girl'. 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 he 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 really 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.

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 four dances - a Black Bottom,a quickstep, 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 four 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, rubbing his back, or pinching his behind. Every so often, he would press his groin against Edward and the latter had become uncomfortably aware of a hard bulge against him. Rufus was now 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, 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 his 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 broken 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 become so drunk he was unable to walk in a straight line. How am I going to get home?

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 quesy!" 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 he suddenly 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, and when he 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," he paused and 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, ande 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 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 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 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.