Chapter 37: Apprentices

The final months of school passed in a sort of haze. Ms. Carlisle's smile had seemed a little thin since her return from the funeral, but Riza had done what she could to comfort her. At least Ms. Carlisle was spending the summer in East City with her family, even if it left Riza feeling a bit lonely. The summer air tasted a little like Roy's kisses and she found herself missing him more than ever in spite of herself. She had taken all those books to the library with a promise to harden her heart against the inevitable. She would not waste her life waiting on a soldier who would never return. Or so she told herself on the nights when the tears threatened to drown her pillow.

Thankfully, they never seemed to come in the daylight, and her eyes remained dry as she gazed into the river, waiting for something to tug on her line. Fishing by herself was awfully boring. It left far too much time for her thoughts to wander to places she'd rather they didn't. Today, however, the sun was hot enough to leave her feeling too muddled and uncomfortable to dwell on past heartaches or her fears for the future. She hardly even noticed the rough grass against her legs.

"Riza?" Claire's voice cut through the heavy air. "You're going to melt if you stay out in the sun like that. You should come swimming with us."

She shook her head. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline," she said, staring wistfully into the river. "I don't have a bathing suit."

"You could borrow one of my sister's. She's about your size, although the top might be a little small." Claire plopped onto the grass beside Riza, who suddenly felt very self-conscious about the size of her breasts. In truth, she had a bathing suit that fit her perfectly but she had not worn it since last summer, when she had taken Roy to the pool beneath the waterfall only a few days before his sudden departure. Back then, however, there had been nothing for her to fear from exposing herself like that. She had been free of secret tattoos and Roy had been the perfect gentleman after an initial moment of awkwardness when his face had flushed red with guilt at the fact that he had stared a little too long at her body before finally meeting her eyes. But she would have been a hypocrite to call him on it when she had stolen more than a few glances at his bare chest and the muscles of his back.

"Maybe some other time. I need to catch something for dinner."

"Good luck!" Claire said, getting to her feet again. "I'll see you around."

The first apprentice ignored her entirely. Riza's excitement at the possibility of another person in the house—one who might treat her kindly—disappeared when the serious man stepped past her as though the door had opened itself. Though she had known nothing of what kind of person to expect, she was disappointed all the same that her father hadn't thought to bring someone closer to her own age. At least she had known better than to expect a woman. Long before she had watched alchemy destroy her father and lost what little interest she might have in the subject, he had refused to teach her anything on the topic. Alchemy was a man's field, and no matter how many times she had complained to her mother how unfair it was, he had refused to change his mind.

"Stubborn girl," he had muttered, "you didn't care until it was forbidden." She could still hear him, hear the life in his voice she had all but forgotten. Her own response about how she didn't need stupid alchemy and how maybe he wouldn't be afraid of teaching her if he didn't know girls were cleverer than boys anyhow only served to make him angrier. She had gone to bed without dessert until her mother brought a bowl of pudding to her on a tray.

"Why is he like that?" she had demanded. "What does he have against girls?" Even her mother hadn't had an answer for that; she had simply given Riza a tired smile and kissed her goodnight.

It wasn't until after her death that Berthold had changed his mind, as if realizing that he would never have a son to pass his legacy to, and that his daughter would have to do. But she had already seen what alchemy had done to him: deconstructing and then reconstructing his mind into something terrible. She also knew that he had made the offer as though it left a bad taste in his mouth to suggest teaching alchemy to a girl.

Now, Riza followed the stranger upstairs with the same question from all those years ago bubbling in her throat, threatening to choke her when she dared not speak it. Whoever he was, she doubted he would know the answer, and even if he did, she doubted more that she would like it. Her suspicions were fully formed at the wise old age of nine and her father's sexism seemed linked with the madness she had seen in his fire-lit eyes. No doubt this man shared the sentiment, judging by the way he looked right through her. She was there to cook and to clean, to be neither seen nor heard.

She considered at least pointing out the vacant bedroom so that he didn't pry into hers but something about his cold blue eyes stayed her tongue. The three years she had spent fending for herself had taught her to trust her own intuition and today it told her that this man's reasons for studying alchemy were not so noble as her father, perhaps, had hoped.

As soon as he disappeared into the correct room, Riza turned on heel and raced to the attic. Her father frowned when she burst through the door unannounced but he did not turn her away.

"I don't like him, Father," she said, control of her voice returning now that she was back on familiar ground. Her father's dead eyes were as frightening as the stranger's but at least she knew them.

"Which is why he is here as my apprentice and not as your playmate." Berthold regarded her with irritation. "Unless you want to go hungry, I suggest you hold your tongue around him."

"Yes, Father." It wasn't as though she planned to spend any time near the man. She would bring his meals up with her father's and leave the house as much as she could. With school starting up in a week, it would be simple to avoid contact.

The apprenticeship, it turned out, did not last the month, though the pay for that month would be enough to see them through the winter if Riza budgeted it carefully. She heard the shouting upstairs and buried her nose in a book, hoping the man would not demand a refund simply because her father had deemed him unworthy of further tutelage. She was glad to see the last of him.

The next apprentice at least had the decency to answer her timid hello. He smiled, shook her hand, and told her that he had a daughter about her age. As she led him up to his room, she wondered if this other girl had hair as red as her father's, and more importantly, if it was such a good idea for a man to leave his family to study alchemy. But she didn't dare warn him when they so desperately needed the money.

She learned over dinner that he had already studied alchemy, that his name was Robert, and that he always carried sweets with him. He slipped a couple to Riza under the table and she decided not to judge him too harshly yet. It was nice to feel like someone's daughter again.

Of course, it would not matter in the end if Robert treated her well, that he had a daughter of his own that he missed enough to dote on her instead, if he did not impress Riza's father. The following morning, she sat outside the attic door to eavesdrop on his first lesson, ear pressed against the wood as she heard her father ask Robert why he wanted to study alchemy so far from home when he already knew the basics.

He stammered out that it was some Brigadier General in Central. Grumman, when pressed for a name. There was a moment of terrible silence before her father said one icy word that she had to strain to hear: "Leave."

"What?" Robert's voice sounded as shocked as Riza felt.

"Leave!" Hawkeye thundered, as though volume were the cause of his apprentice's confusion. "Get out of my sight. No dog of the military will ever be worthy of my research, least of all one of his."

Riza scrambled to her feet when she heard a chair scrape the floor. Heart hammering in her throat, she raced down to her room, sitting at her desk with a book in order to pretend that she had been there the whole time. Only her trembling fingers as she flipped through the pages belied the fear that had arisen in her after the overheard conversation. She was accustomed to her father's tempter, to the horrible things he shouted at her sometimes, but it hadn't been this terrible in years. He had almost seemed better since she had drained the bottles of spirits from the liquor cabinet, leaving only the weak wine in the cellar to satisfy him if he demanded a drink. It always left him calmer than the stronger alcohol had, and though he had been furious with her upon discovering the empty bottles, his anger had abated with time.

Once Robert had gone, leaving her with a handful of sweets and an apology that he could not take her with him, she made her way cautiously up to the attic with a cup of tea. At least her hands had stopped shaking. She opened the door to see her father pacing the room, still fuming. Riza stepped around him to place the tea on the table and curled up on a chair, peering at him nervously over the back, fingers curled into fists on her lap.

"I liked him," she said once her father's jaw had unclenched, hoping it was a sign that he had calmed down. "Why did you send him away?"

"Don't play games with me, Riza. I know perfectly well you were listening at the door." He was still angry, but it was cold anger now; he wasn't about to start shouting, nor was his anger directed at her.

Even so, she spoke carefully. "I thought I might get in trouble. I'm sorry, Father."

"The military would only use my research to harm people. In the wrong hands, flame alchemy could destroy this entire country. You understand that, do you not?"

She did not know much of anything about the military, so she nodded dutifully. At least she knew the second half was true. She had watched firsthand it destroyed the man in front of her. "I suppose that General Grumman qualifies as the wrong hands."

"Never speak that name again—not under this roof, not anywhere!" The anger had returned, white hot. Riza didn't press him any further.

After that, apprentices seemed to last an average of two weeks before her father kicked them out, and never longer than a month. To Riza, the years that followed were little more than a sea of names and faces that all seemed to melt together. Only the last one stood out from that mix: frighteningly thin with a narrow face, he had arrived six months after her fifteenth birthday. Though mild, the winter had left them destitute, and her father had accepted the first person who had written about apprenticeship without question.

Engel was the only name on the envelope and when he arrived, she was far too frightened to ask what his given name was. He loomed over her, at least forty centimeters taller than her measly hundred and fifty-eight. And she was afraid. His eyes were an unnerving shade of green. She didn't think she had even seen green eyes before, and certainly not that shade.

She didn't need to wait for her father to ask it. She knew perfectly well why Engel had come to study from her father in particular. The rumors that had spread around about his flame alchemy had led Engel here seeking power. He wanted to use it to burn anyone who might stand in his way, whatever that way might be. Riza shivered and sank against her closed bedroom door. While she knew nothing of the general her father hated so much, she was willing to bet that Robert would have been a better candidate for learning her father's research.

She curled up, pressing her forehead to her knees as she fought back a wave of hot tears. There was no lock on her door. If it wasn't the middle of March, she would run outside and never look back until she had reached the treehouse. She would stay there until she was certain her father had sent Engel away.

Digging her fingernails into her thighs, she forced herself up. She changed into a nightgown and climbed under the covers. She did not want to risk going out into the hall. That night, she dreamed of monstrous men with hard eyes, while she was left unable to run as they closed in around her. In the months and even years that had followed her mother's death, she had learned that the nightmares didn't go away completely, not ever. New ones simply joined with the old.

The morning found Riza shivering in the cold room, drenched in icy sweat. She had no desire to leave her bed. Fisting her hands around the sheets, she dragged the covers up over her head, hoping what little warmth there was in her breath would fill the empty space around her.

In the end, it was hunger that drove her out from the safety of her cocoon. Hunger and duty. Even if she hadn't had an appetite, her father and this new apprentice would demand food from her before too long. She dressed and combed through her hair with her fingers, still wary of spending any amount of time on the same floor as Engel outside the privacy of her bedroom, which she still feared was not all that private to begin with. At least the kitchen provided another form of sanctuary, and if Engel was like other men she had known, he would not dare venture into it of his own accord.

She toasted several slices of bread, spreading jam carefully on each before balancing three slices each on two plates. The plates went on a tray with two cups of tea and she carried it up to the attic, placing it on the table between the two men.

"No coffee?" Engel sneered at the cup of tea for a moment before turning to look at Riza. She took an involuntary step backward.

"N-no, sir. It's very expensive and f-father doesn't like it."

"Expensive," he mocked in a high-pitched tone. "What do you think I'm paying for, girl?"

Riza looked fearfully at her father, hoping he would offer her some solution, some escape. To her relief, he said, "Leave the girl out of this. If you want coffee, you may purchase it for yourself in the village."

That was clearly not the answer Engel wanted to hear but apart from tensing his shoulders, he kept his temper in check. "Very well," he conceded.

For the rest of the day, Riza stayed in her room. She did not even bother making lunch, instead burying her nose in a book of plays that had once been her mother's most treasured possession. Now it was hers. It was very old and she handled the delicate pages carefully. Her favorite play brought little comfort on a day like this. It wasn't a loving prince who had come to this isolated place where she was trapped alone with her father the enchanter. It never had been and it never would be. Hours later, just after sunset, just as she was settling into a familiar story about a girl trapped with her magician father and feeling as though it was familiar for more reason than one, she was interrupted by a sharp knock.

Riza ignored it, forcing herself to concentrate on the words in front of her.

The knock sounded again, louder this time and accompanied by her father's voice calling her name.

"Come in," she said reluctantly as she pressed a scrap of paper into the book to mark her place.

Her father stepped into the room, pulling the door closed behind him. "My apprentice," he said, "is very angry with you. As am I."

"I'm afraid of him, Father," she said. More afraid than I am of you.

"You know we cannot afford to send him away. There is no one left to take his place."

"Please, Father, I'll do anything. I'll keep my tongue until he goes, just make him leave. I promise I'll find work to make up the difference." She felt almost like crying but kept the tears out of her eyes and her voice without difficulty.

He scoffed. "You're even less likely to find work in this village than I am to find another apprentice. But I don't much care for him either. There are few men I would trust less with the secrets to flame alchemy."

"Thank you."

It took nearly week before her father told Engel to leave, and Riza had stayed late at school that night to avoid getting caught up in the fight she was certain would follow, hoping that her father and the house would still be there when she returned. At least he had had the decency to whisper the news to her when she brought breakfast so she had known to stay away.

Both the house and her father had been fine. Their financial situation had not. But with the rapidly warming air, she had begun to find game again and hunting had brought hope. Toward the end of April, a letter brought even more. Her father had seemed almost pleased when he informed her that Roy Mustang was a boy about her age, who would arrive in July. Riza, however, was not nearly as pleased. She had learned well that few men who wanted to study alchemy were kind. When the date came, she decided, she would meet him at the train station, and if he seemed awful, she would give him directions to the wrong house. She was not going to let another apprentice frighten her into imprisoning herself in her room.

Over two years later, the summer passed as though everything might turn around again. The next time Claire invited her swimming, Riza wore an old shirt she had found left behind in Roy's closet over the swimming suit. Her father's health seemed to improve every day. It was only in August—with the looming threat of another school year and a teacher who wasn't Mrs. Carlisle—that she began to fear the future again. From the day she walked through those doors again, everything began to fall apart again.

Riza's eighteenth birthday came and went and she missed nearly every day of school this term taking care of her father when his illness came back, worse than ever, on the first day of class. She didn't understand it. The summer had stretched almost into October for once, and even December felt strangely warm. He should be getting better, she thought miserably as she carried his tea up the stairs.

He was sitting up in bed, looking old and ill and exhausted. Riza almost felt bad for him. She placed the tea on his nightstand. "It's still hot," she warned.

"Thank you, Riza," he said, drinking it anyway. He did not seem to notice the heat. "There's something else I need you to do for me."

"Yes, Father."

"Send a letter to Roy Mustang; tell him to come at once."

Riza's eyes widened. Had the illness ruined his mind as well as his lungs? "I—I thought you never wanted to see him again."

"I am dying. Surely you have surmised as much."

She had suspected as much for the past week. "I have. Still, I thought you said that no dog of the military would ever be worthy of your research or—" Her throat suddenly felt full of molasses. "Or of me."

"I like to think," said Berthold Hawkeye, coughing with every word, "that he changed his mind. I only hope that he can make it in time."

Riza nodded, still finding speech difficult. She raced down the hall to her bedroom, rifled through her desk, and retrieved two sheets of paper and pen. Hand steady despite her excitement, she wrote a short message to Christmas, instructing her to get the message to Roy as soon as she could. With any luck, he would be on leave for New Year's by the time the letter arrived.

To Roy, she wrote: "Dear Roy, Please come at once. My father is very ill and he wants to see you." Too embarrassed, too unsure of herself after more than a year to write the word love, she signed it, "Your friend, Riza."

In the post script, she added that she wanted to see him as well. In the morning, before school, she would mail it, and that thought carried her through her nighttime routine as though in a dream. Soon, she would see Roy again. Soon, she would feel his arms around her. Soon, she would have to cut off whatever relationship he tried to rekindle because her father would never let her reveal her tattoo to Roy as long as she lived and he would almost certainly continue living out of spite to keep them apart.

With that thought, the dream ended, leaving a very lonely night ahead.