I don't own Inuyasha or Fullmetal Alchemist. The idea for the logs came from Star Trek which was created by Gene Rodenberry and probably owned by more people than I could ever name. Thanks to my wonderful beta: you know her, you love her, let's hear a big, heartfelt cheer for TitianWren for her awesome work! I keep forgetting to thank Saber, webmaster of fullmetalalchemist.info for supplying me with a crucial piece of information that I used in the last chapter. So thanks to him/her for the much needed info!
From the personal log of Colonel Roy Mustang—We all have to keep a personal log; it's a little known fact. It's absolutely pointless— a waste of time, paper, and ink. However, I am not the Fuhrer and my opinions do not count. I must do this, much as I despise it. But one day I will be Fuhrer. On that day, personal logs shall become an option. Miniskirts shall be required of all female officers instead.
The pen stopped its scritching for a scant second and then started up again, hastily writing something. Note to self: DO NOT let Hawkeye see this and make sure Maes promises not the reveal these contents under the pain of being burned, should he ever be allowed to read this.
The frantic scratching stopped and the normal pace resumed.
On the other hand, to be a complete hypocrite, I have to admit that there is a certain amount of liberty associated with recording events. It is, however, problematic that the Fuhrer has ordered me to turn this in for review when we return. I've been ordered to record every little thing. I've already chosen another book for the edited version. It's a handsome thing, bound in indigo-colored leather and trimmed with silver. I can't say why it attracted me, but it did. Should I be asked about the unconventional log, my standard (cheap) one was destroyed by natives that we encountered. It's certainly possible; they're definitely violent enough. This one shall remain under alchemic lock and key…
But where shall this one start? The beginning, as people are so fond of saying, is the best place. So this shall begin with my desire to burn Edward to a pile of ashes— Maes too, while I'm at it: the former for aging me ten years and the latter for hanging up on me and keeping me in the dark. Lucky for us mortals, fire, if you can control it, will light the way and the halls need not be so dark… I had to hear about Ed's condition after Lab Five— Lab Five, for the love of heaven!— from Major Armstrong. Perhaps I'm more protective of Ed than I realize. Like Maes has room to accuse or make fun. He gave Fullmetal the book under the mistaken impression that it would keep him out of trouble. But this is Edward we're talking about, and funny enough, I don't see pigs flying. Must be because Tucker never got the chance to create that particular chimera yet.
………
Mustang stared at the phone, wondering if he wasn't hallucinating as he listened to the excited voice on the other end of the line. Maybe it was the tea, he hypothesized, looking at the mug he'd recently finished. He hadn't ruled out that theory just yet, but he needed proof. And then he remembered that no matter how much evidence he gathered, science never proved anything; it merely made laws to explain the formed hypothesis. Still, listening to the ecstatic voice as it chattered on to the one person that the owner of the voice absolutely despised— and talking willingly— made him surer every passing second that he was hallucinating. Oh, yes, he thought, it has to be the tea.
"Let me get this straight," he said, trying to put what he'd just been told into order, or a semblance of it. "Lieutenant Colonel Hughes gave you the book in the hospital. When you finished it, you decided it was junk and tossed it away to the table. The book hit the edge of the table instead and a map popped out of the back cover binding?" Roy smirked. "Your aim must really suck, Fullmetal. Guess it's because you're so short."
"Who're you calling 'short'?" the boy on the other end of the phone snapped. At the gentle murmur that Mustang couldn't quite make out, he heard Edward sigh and the miniscule display of temper faded.
How the hell did Maes miss that, he wondered, as Edward grudgingly confirmed his rendition and continued.
"Wait— what?" Mustang asked, snapping out of his lull and focusing on what Ed was saying.
Exasperated, Edward repeated himself.
"Magic?" Disbelief colored his voice with a hint of impatience. He rubbed his forehead with his free hand. I should have destroyed that damned book after all. "Don't be absurd," he snapped, his patience fast deteriorating. "There's no such thing. Fullmetal, we are alchemists, scientists. We see the world through numbers and equations. We do not believe in an improbable concept like magic," he grated, patience completely gone.
"But Colonel," he heard Alphonse say, the young voice echoing painfully in the hollow suit and causing Mustang to wince for him inwardly, "the legends have to come from somewhere."
"Maybe so, but magic?" Since when did these two revert back to kindergarten? Is there something that Armstrong didn't tell me?
"Look, whether or not magic is real isn't the issue," Ed broke in, bringing the argument to an end with his next statement. "The map isn't fake. It's as real as you or me. Now, another interesting fact is that a bead of some sort is repeatedly mentioned. It may be the Philosopher's Stone. This place may have created one and they may still have it!"
"And they call it what?" Roy asked, skeptically. "That, I refuse to believe," he said flatly when Edward told him.
"Why? The stone is also called the White Lion and a variety of other names. Why not this name, too?"
A bead, the Philosopher's Stone— the greatest treasure in alchemy— called a bead? Mustang felt like banging his head repeatedly. "To uneducated peasants, maybe," he snapped in response. "Is there anything else?" he asked before he did slam his head.
"The map shows an island southwest of East HQ. Since I'm here in Central, I already met with Fuhrer Bradley to ask for permission to travel there, seeing as the military hasn't visited it yet."
Mustang choked when Ed's words registered, much to the perplexing of his underlings. Hawkeye stared at him, wondering if she needed to fetch one of the doctors from the med-bay. No, she decided. He looks shocked but he's breathing without turning another color. Shrugging mentally, she turned back to her paperwork.
"You…you…" he stuttered, "you went to the Fuhrer?" he gasped out. He couldn't believe he was hearing this.
"Of course," Edward said impatiently. "It's not like you could authorize a visit, you know."
Thank you, Edward, he thought, a headache pounding between his eyes viciously. Changing ears with the phone, he opened the top left drawer of his desk and began to pick up and push away pens and other miscellaneous objects as he hunted for the bottle of aspirin he stored there. I know it's here somewhere. "Yes, I know that," he replied through clenched teeth. Dammit! Where is it? If Havoc took it again and didn't return it... The thought trailed off into a pleasing fantasy of Havoc running from his flames. Shifting the phone again, he opened the right drawer and began to root around in it for the elusive bottle. "Why didn't you contact me before you went to King Bradley? I'm your commanding officer!" And I've never denied you anything.
"Yeah, I knew I forgot something," the blond replied flippantly.
Roy could just see that knowing look in the blond's eyes and the curiously flat, yet amused expression on his face as one metallic index finger scratched his cheek negligently. In the background, he could hear Alphonse slapping his forehead and groaning. All at once, Roy unclenched his jaw and smiled grimly. Leaving his desk drawers, he gripped the phone again with one hand. The pain was a good thing— he could think of ways to punish the pipsqueak. Logic asserted itself. Of course Fullmetal hadn't brought this to him. He didn't want to hear Mustang's criticisms and cynicism. If only he knew… he wouldn't have gotten that book unless Roy had given Maes the go-ahead to give it to him. He felt his smirk return, and made sure Edward heard it. "Forgot. Right," he drawled.
"Well, it has been hectic, you know— what with my arm malfunctioning again and all. Winry had to come from Resembool to fix me! She accidentally left a screw out!"
The smirk widened. "And sneaking into Lab Five," he commented, not saying anything about his last comment. "You didn't think I wouldn't find out, did you?" he asked, waiting for the next flippant comment. When he didn't hear anything except the blond's harsh breathing, he became concerned. The smirk faded from his lips and his brows furrowed as he tucked the phone between his shoulder and head again, ignoring the stab that lanced through his head and down his neck. "Edward?" he asked quietly.
"Don't ask me to tell you about… what I… about anything," the boy said hoarsely.
Mustang blinked. He'd never heard Ed's voice so… afraid. "I won't," he promised. He could always read Hughes's report. He was certain that Edward had talked to him.
"Thank you."
Roy could hear the relief in his voice. "Anything else you 'forgot' to tell me?" he asked, as if he hadn't heard Ed's thanks.
"Yes. You've been ordered back to Central. Fuhrer Bradley wants to talk to you."
Mustang slammed the phone down. Gritting his teeth, he rubbed his temples once again. Where the hell was that damned bottle?
"Here, sir."
He looked up to see Lieutenant Hawkeye holding the tell-tale bottle. "I borrowed it. I hope you don't mind."
Gratefully, and knowing that she was lying for Havoc, he took the tiny, white container and tugged the cap off. Shaking out two pills, he popped them into his mouth and swallowed them, wincing at the sour taste. "Thank you, Lieutenant Hawkeye. Next time, Havoc, put them back," he said, not sparing his surprised subordinate a glance.
………
On the other end of the phone, in a sterile, white hospital room, a boy clad in a white hospital gown sat on the bed while his younger brother, standing seven feet tall, loomed over him. They both stared at the phone. Finally: "I don't believe it! He hung up on me! Mustang, you bastard!" The boy's shout could be heard throughout the hallway.
………
Hawkeye sighed internally. She'd tried to tell Havoc that Mustang wouldn't believe her. She sat down, glanced at him sternly, and then said, "The phone, sir. Please don't break it."
The Colonel didn't reply. He never did when it came to that reprimand. He knew full well that if she didn't say something he would break it. It had happened before. "Lieutenant Hawkeye," he said, looking over at her with his piercing gaze. "Were there any messages ordering me back to Central today?"
"No, sir," she said, ignoring the fluttering of her heart.
"That's what I thought," he replied, looking at the phone in satisfaction. I dare you to ring, he thought.
It answered his challenge.
Steeling himself for Edward's voice, he picked the receiver up. "Colonel Mustang," he said coolly, his baritone showing no emotion whatsoever.
"Ah, Colonel, excellent," the cool, professional voice wafted out of the phone causing him to nearly drop it in surprise. "This is Juliet Douglas, Fuhrer Bradley's secretary. You have been ordered back to Central immediately," she said formally. "There is a train leaving East City at six o'clock this evening to Central. You are to catch this train— your fare has been taken care of, all you need to do is pack. Someone will be at Central Station to meet you when you arrive. We look forward to seeing you, Colonel Mustang. Have a pleasant trip." She hung up.
Roy stared at the phone in shock, barely hearing its lonely dial tone. The pipsqueak wasn't lying? he screamed mentally.
Well, that was a shock, to be sure. I never would have thought him serious. I simply thought he'd been spending too much time in Hughes's custody and got the idea for a joke from him. That's something Maes would pull. But he did indeed go to the Fuhrer… who in turn, much to my surprise, gave permission for this mission— why, I don't know. I've come to understand that King Bradley firmly believes in allowing his men to search for their dreams, but isn't granting permission for such a quest a bit over the top? After Ishbal, the military hasn't visited a new region or province because no one wants a situation like that to repeat. Still, it didn't sound like a normal quest, either. Ed, Al, and I were the only ones being allowed to go… it got me out of baby-sitting for Major General Hakuro, however.
The train ride, though long, was uneventful. In a word, it was boring. Being that it was such a sudden trip, Mustang was forced to break all the dates he had set up for the foreseeable future. His impeccable record had certainly sustained a blow, he'd told Hawkeye mournfully. Strangely enough, she didn't seem very sympathetic. Women. For as much as he loved them, he couldn't understand them. The only good thing about the trip was that he slept on the train. He felt refreshed as he departed the train car. And it all went down the drain when he saw who was waiting for them.
"Howdy!" Maes said, hailing him and Hawkeye.
"Good evening, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes!" Hawkeye said, standing at attention and saluting him.
"Gee, Lieutenant, do you have be so stiff?" he asked, shoving away from the wall he was leaning against and approaching them. "I mean, Roy, yes, he doesn't know how to loosen up or have fun, but I thought you, at least, had more sense."
Before Hawkeye could answer, Mustang's smooth baritone spoke first. "You might try talking about me when I'm not around and can't hear you, Hughes."
"Nah. I do enough of that already. It's boring after a while," came the investigator's flippant reply.
"Excuse me?" Mustang asked, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at his friend. Hawkeye almost lost the internal battle with her amusement. Really, they made quite a pair. It was hard to believe they were best friends.
"You heard me. Besides, someone has to undo the corruption that babysitting you has caused."
It would be most unprofessional to laugh, she reprimanded herself sternly. But by the heavens, it was hard... and getting harder.
"Hughes," he intoned warningly.
"Yes? Is something wrong, Colonel Mustang, sir? Did I speak too frankly?"
She gave in. To her credit though, it did sound very much like a hacking cough. When she realized that her superior officer wasn't fooled, she stopped and regained her bland look. Her lips however, still held the tiniest curl of amusement.
Roy groaned, the annoyance draining out of him like water rushing to leave the tub. He couldn't stay angry at Hughes for long. And truly, Hawkeye did have a good reason to laugh: the exchange had been amusing. "Sometimes I find it hard to believe you and I are friends." He looked around the deserted station and frowned at the empty shadows. "Ed's not here?"
"He's at HQ."
"Oh, good." I can't wait to pound him, Mustang thought.
"But you have a meeting with Fuhrer Bradley first," Maes said, his voice ruining the pleasant picture of Edward running and screaming like he had during the battle assessment. He shot Hughes a sour look — said man grinned in response. "Then you can pound him."
Eerily enough, it was like Maes read his mind. Must have shown on my face, he thought. Either that, or Hughes simply knew him too well. Likely it was both. "Does this mean I beat you before or after?" Roy asked, falling into step with him. He barely noticed Hawkeye becoming his ever-present shadow.
"Me? Whatever for?" the investigator asked, shooting him a sidelong glance, his frivolous attitude and trademark smirk back.
"For thinking that book would keep him out of trouble. It didn't work, in case you hadn't noticed."
"Actually, I did notice. But thanks for reminding me." Hughes closed his eyes briefly and sighed as they approached the station's exit. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he said quietly.
Mustang was silent as they left the station. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he frowned at the visible difference in temperature: it was much cooler here in Central City than the East. As they made their way to the HQ, Roy thought about his conversation with Ed. Magic. It was almost like the young blond had… convinced himself that magic was… real. Idiocy, really.
"Penny for your thoughts," Maes asked, glancing at him.
"You'll laugh," he replied. "And I want the penny first."
Hughes muttered something about promotions and greedy misers but said, "I'm sure that's something we could both use."
Sighing, he wondered how crazy he was going to sound but told him anyway. "When Edward first called and told me about the map, I could have sworn he believed in magic."
"Magic? Edward?" Hughes didn't laugh. Instead, he sounded surprised and disbelieving. "We are talking about Edward Elric, right?"
"Strange, isn't it?"
"If he were younger, I wouldn't say so," Maes said. "Young kids have the tendency to believe in the fantastic; that's why we call them innocent. But Ed stopped being a child when—" Hughes broke off suddenly, unwillingly to say more. He looked at Roy who returned the look, their eyes finishing Maes's sentence: Edward had stopped being a child the night he and Al tried to bring their mother back.
They walked in silence, the muffled noise of their boots on the pavement the only sound. From the shadows a cat hissed at them and fled into a crevice, glaring reproachfully at them as they went past, its light green eyes luminous from the glow of the street lamp. Mustang frowned. Something was still bothering him: the map; it seemed unlikely that Hughes would overlook something that important. When it came to investigations, Maes was one of the best. That was why he was in Investigations, after all.
"Maes," he asked quietly, unwilling to completely shatter the silence of the night as they approached the looming stories of Central HQ, "I have to ask— how did you miss that map?"
Hughes's face lost its cocky grin. "I don't know," he said at last, a contemplative look on his expressive features. "I went over that book with a fine toothcomb and I didn't find it. The more I think about it, the more I believe that it was meant for only one person to find."
"Edward," Mustang said grimly. "But why only him? Why not Alphonse?"
"Who's more desperate to locate the stone?" Hughes countered.
Mustang only frowned; he didn't need to answer that.
"Remember," Maes said, "the lady who delivered it said that the book was for Ed if he was still searching for the Philosopher's Stone. His stint in Lab Five only served as proof to whomever or whatever that he's still looking for it."
"Did you get a look at it?"
Maes shook his head. "Ed didn't tell me about the map until after his meeting with the Fuhrer."
"Damn that boy. I still can't believe he used such an underhanded tactic. Going to the Fuhrer first, then informing me."
"Look at it this way," Maes said consolingly. "He learned from the best," he told Mustang, shooting the man a smug grin. "It's not like you would have done any different."
Of all the low down, dirty comments!
My meeting with King Bradley was simply a re-cap of his previous discussion with Edward. It was then that I received the order to record everything, as Fullmetal is a bit… forgetful with details, if some of his reports are anything to judge by. Damn, I hadn't thought the Fuhrer would have realized…
And so our journey began. I've come to discover that boats and I are not friends…
Mustang leaned his head on the railing; the cool, damp wood felt wonderful against his sunburned skin. He wished he could stay inside his cabin but the rocking beneath the deck was considerably worse— that and the space was so small and enclosed… funny, he'd never thought of himself as claustrophobic… but then he'd never been on a boat before, either. He opened his eyes and looked at the waves that rammed the boat constantly, gently tossing her to and fro. Bad idea. The seasickness once again clawed its way up his throat. Heaving his body over the side, he vomited again in the churning water, much to the amusement of the deck mates that were covertly watching him as they did their duties. Groaning, he coughed and slumped miserably on the deck, waiting for the next bout and wishing that the boat would stop its roiling. He took deep breaths, hoping the salty air would help his queasy stomach and pounding head. He did remember to bring his aspirin, right?
"Hey, Al, check it out!"
Roy moaned, a hoarse, guttural sound in the back of his throat that pulled cruelly on his vocal cords. The sickeningly cheerful voice grated on his nerves and made his head hurt worse. He gritted his teeth and wished fiercely for the ground to open and swallow him up: surely nothing good was going to come of this particular confrontation. Closing his eyes, Mustang envisioned his puny subordinate running around like an idiot trying to subdue the people who called him short.
The blond chuckled sinisterly and remarked, "Guess we found the Colonel's weakness! He gets seasick! Who'd have thought it possible of the great Colonel Mustang!"
The Flame Alchemist leveled a glare at Edward over his shoulder, noting balefully that the blond pipsqueak was just fine and grinning at him. Bastard, he thought.
"Brother, please. That's not very nice of you. We shouldn't make fun of the Colonel because he doesn't like the sea."
Thank you, Alphonse. It's easy to see which of you paid attention when your mother was teaching manners, he thought, closing his eyes.
"I mean seriously," Edward continued, "just wait until I tell the people in Central and East HQ! Colonel Mustang gets seasick!"
That stopped Roy cold. People in Central and the East? He was ruined! The comments! The smirks! The awful whispering behind his back that Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist and hero of the Eastern Rebellion, was unable to travel by sea! He was ruined, ruined! That little pipsqueak... he wouldn't dare! Oh, who was he kidding? Edward was on cloud nine right now. And it doesn't help that he remembers almost every time someone makes fun of him. And it also didn't help that Mustang himself was one of the worst offenders, either.
"Go away, Edward," he said coldly. Even to him, his voice sounded weak.
"He even sounds sick! This is just perfect! I wish I had a camera!"
"Brother," Alphonse tried again. "Don't forget he's our superior!"
"Who cares? He's too sick to do anything," the blond retorted smugly.
Mustang's eyes snapped open and narrowed at Ed's brash statement. Is that so, he wondered as a vein in his forehead began to pulse madly in response to his rising anger. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself but Ed's words resounded over and over again. The anger built and he relished in it: it drove the seasickness away. His smirk returned with a vicious slant to it as he straightened his spine. Turning to Edward with deliberate, sloth-worthy slowness, he pulled his trademark glove out of his pocket and slipped it on with equal speed, leisurely straightening it over his long fingers. Holding his gloved hand up to eye level, he admired the copper-tinted threads that glittered ominously in the dying sunlight.
"Too sick, am I?" he repeated, extending his wrist and connecting his thumb and middle digit; his left hand propped itself casually on his waist.
Cold sweat began to trickle down Ed's neck as he looked into the Colonel's smoldering, coal-colored eyes. Oh, yeah, he was in for it. Turning his head, he glared at his brother, watching the seven-foot suit of armor scoot far, far away. Al, you traitor. Gulping, he turned back to the furious Mustang and held up his hands in a gesture of reconciliation, a nervous smile twisting his lips. "Now Colonel, you know it's just a joke—" He broke off and ran screeching as flames hurtled towards him.
Gulls heralded a cool, salty breeze that washed over the deck as Roy stood there smirking in satisfaction. The few crewmembers on deck stopped their work and stared at him, wondering why their captain had allowed such a madman onto the ship.
Ah, victory, Mustang thought. That'll keep his mouth shut.
The ship pitched again and he lost his smile rapidly. The nausea had returned and with it… Mustang made a mad beeline to the railing he'd left and heaved himself over the side just as the seasickness resurfaced.
At least Edward didn't see my bout of seasickness after that. Thankfully it didn't happen while I was insuring his silence. I never would have lived it down. The crew however, thought it was hilarious. Fortunately for me, the captain was kind enough to send his daughter with an old remedy that helped immensely. I grew quite… dependent on that foul-tasting tea that was rendered ineffective if sweetened with anything except sage honey. The captain informed me that we had another two weeks of sailing— if the fair weather held. We'd only docked at Martin St. Steve for supplies. Ed, Al, and I were headed to the island chain known as Wicherry. Fortunately, the weather held and gave us an added bonus of extremely breezy days— we made it in under two weeks.
It was on that group of small islands that our search began: the search for the fabled jewel called the Shikon no Tama, or the Jewel of Four Souls, that could grant any one wish. If only we knew just what we would go through to even get to the point of searching for it, I would have asked the Fuhrer to seriously reconsider. What should have been simple… was more complicated than the three of us could imagine. And the military would not, could not, step in to help. We were on our own in the start of a perilous quest— card zero: The Fool; the journey that would teach us just what The Hermit had gone through to become as wise as he was.
Mustang glared at Edward as he took a large breath of air. Grinning at his brother, he tossed a smirk back to the still slightly sick Colonel and said, "Come on, Colonel. Let's go find that stone!"
Growling, Roy reluctantly trailed after him, mentally complaining about how cheeky his subordinate was.
………
Edward was mystified. "I can't believe it," he said, staring after the man as he strode away. Mustang too watched him go with a frown. Ed looked up at his superior almost beseechingly. "Colonel," he said, his tone reminding Roy of someone pleading for something. "I don't understand. What did I do?" he asked, plopping down wearily at the base of a large weeping elm and rubbing his stomach in circles, and wincing.
Mustang looked down at him and just stared, unable to believe his eyes. Ed looked so small and vulnerable sitting there under the tree. His heart clenched. Every time he saw Fullmetal, he always seemed older. His was a presence that not only called out to others but made him seem taller than his mere five foot-two frame. Seeing the eldest Elric like this made him realize once again that Edward was still a kid. He turned his eyes back to the man and his frown deepened. Truthfully, he didn't know what Ed had done either. He'd simply asked about the Shikon Jewel; it was an innocent enough question that had for some reason put everyone they'd asked on edge. The ladies that didn't hurry away with their eyes averted after being asked were cold and harsh, screeching to Edward that children shouldn't ask about what they didn't understand.
What about me, Mustang wondered. I'm not a kid; I'm a full-grown adult. Why don't they tell me? Instead of answering him when he'd asked, they'd scolded him because he'd asked for a child. And the men… well, they were downright hostile, violent even, as the man walking away had been.
And all over one stupid question!
"Excuse me, sir?" Edward called, dashing over to the man who reminded him faintly of Izumi's husband, Sig.
The man stopped his walking and shuffled his packages, setting the bulkiest ones on the ground. "Yes?" he responded politely. "Are you folks lost?" He seemed nice enough. Perhaps he wouldn't be like everyone else and they'd finally get some answers!
"Sort of," Edward replied vaguely. "Actually, we're looking for something. Maybe you can help us out."
"I can certainly try," he responded amicably.
Ed reached into his pocket and pulled out the map. So far, so good. The man moved closer and bent down to examine it, his greater height dwarfing the young alchemist.
"We're reporters," he said, looking up and pointing to Mustang and himself, "and we're trying to find this shrine. It's important for our story."
"Reporters, eh? We don't get a lot of those… ever. In fact, I can't think of one in the forty-seven years that I've lived here. Sure we've lost islanders to the news world now and again, but they've never come here to do a story."
"Good to know we're the first ones, then," Ed said with a grin. "So, where's the shrine?" he asked.
"Don't you want to talk to the villagers, first?" the man asked him shrewdly.
"Sure," Mustang said, stepping forward. "But the shrine has to come first. That's where everything is centered. Once we have that, the villagers come into play."
"Never heard of a journalist that worked that way," he commented lightly.
"We don't work for a newspaper. We work for a magazine."
"Didn't know they hired kids."
"Who're you calling short!" Ed asked angrily.
"I said kid, not short."
"He's an extremely talented writer," Mustang said, smiling, clapping Edward on the shoulder, and squeezing it with enough force to convey his warning.
"What about him?" he asked, jerking his thumb in Alphonse's direction.
"Our photographer, of course."
"I don't see a camera."
"Of course not; it's put away."
The man looked skeptical. Mustang sighed, turned to Al and said, "Grab your camera from its case, would you? Oh, and make sure the flash is working. We had some problems with it on our way over here, if I remember correctly."
"Yes, sir!" The hollow suit scampered off behind a tree. Five minutes or so and a bright flash later, Alphonse came back, camera around his neck. "The flash bulb had to be replaced," he said. "But I got a great close-up of the area."
"Great, useless pictures of the ground. Good job wasting film, Al. Reminds me of the time you wasted film trying to capture ghosts!"
"Those pictures came out perfectly!" the suit said indignantly.
"Yeah, right. Floating lights? Please, the flash was bad then, too."
It amazed Mustang how easily they fell into acting. But then, they must have had a lot of practice— especially with the false pretenses they gave to their teacher and keeping the real reason a secret: learning alchemy to try and bring back their mother. They had to be good at keeping their cards close to their chest to fool her.
"What're you writing about?" the man asked grudgingly. He couldn't disprove it. Hell, any second they'd whip out notebooks. Weren't they supposed to have those out already? Something was off about them but he couldn't really put his finger on it. They were good, though. He'd give them that.
"The Shikon Jewel. It's a legend around here, isn't it?" Edward asked. "You asked what our article's about and now you know. We're trying to find the truth of the Shikon no Tama! The facts in all their glory!"
The reaction they got wasn't the one they'd expected… or rather, it was the one they were hoping to avoid. The man's face tightened suddenly, becoming a mask of rage. Baring his teeth, he pulled his fist back and slugged Edward in the stomach, hard.
"Brother!" Alphonse cried, making a distressed sound.
Selfishly, Mustang was glad that the younger brother was encased in his armor. He was sure that the expression matching the tone would break his heart. Ed's face crumpled and he doubled over in pain. Reaching down, the man grabbed Ed's jacket with both hands and lifted him up to his face.
"You… you…you damned brat! How dare you ask such a question! Do you think to use it, too?" He balled his fist back; Ed shut his eyes and waited. He knew what was coming next: the explosion of pain, skin being split and spilling blood down his face and pooling into his mouth, and changing clothes again. Really, it was a wonder that his clothing seemed to be intact with all the beatings he'd received over the years.
The blow never came. Something unbearably hot rushed between them; he could see the impressions of orange, gold, and red from beneath his closed lashes. Ed found himself hitting the ground gracelessly and heard his would-be-attacker yowling in pain. He opened his eyes. Mustang stood not three feet from them, his right arm stretched out and fingers positioned in their trademark stance.
"That's enough," he heard the Flame Alchemist say. His voice was so cold… and so dangerous that it sent chills up Ed's spine, an odd thing considering the man's primary element.
I never thought I'd be glad to hear his voice!
"So… my thoughts were correct. You're not journalists, are you?"
"What makes you think that?"
"I don't know of many journalists who can do that," he said, putting a singed finger in his mouth.
"I dabble in Alchemy. A little hobby of mine."
The man snorted. "Yeah, and I'm a ninja," he mumbled around his injured digit.
Mustang simply frowned, not bothering with a reply. "Instead of beating him black and blue, why don't you tell us why you and everyone else on this damned island is so touchy over the story of a stupid jewel." Though it was tactfully phrased like a question, Edward and Alphonse knew that it was anything but. The man seemed to know it, too.
Putting his hands at his side he simply looked at Mustang for a long time. Sighing, he bent over and picked up his parcels and slung them over his shoulder once again. "I'm late," he said. "My wife and daughter are going to kill me. Let me give you some friendly advice."
Ed snorted and muttered something about oxymorons. For someone who had just been hell-bent on beating the stuffing out of a teenager, friendly was not a word that should have been in his vocabulary.
"That's a story that we don't talk about, even to our children," he said, ignoring Edward and his mutterings. "The fact that outsiders like you have even heard about it is bad and it's enough to make even the most rational of us raging monsters. And for your sakes, I pray that you never hear the story of that cursed jewel." With that, he turned around and walked off into the crowd, expertly weaving his way through the throng of people.
He stopped glaring at the man; it wouldn't do any good to keep it up. Instead, he looked up at the sky, noting the brilliant hues that stretched out across the cloudy expanse. He felt an unexpected grin stretch his mouth. It'd been so long since he'd seen a sunset that didn't include dust as part of the scenery, and he'd never seen one with the sea in the background. As the sun started its decent into the welcoming arms of the ocean, feathery rays slanted across the sky, turning the clouds vibrant shades of oranges, reds, and golds. The indigo-colored night began to stain the sky as it crept up from the ocean to claim its throne and bid farewell to the setting sun. It was a beautiful display. And slightly ruined by the soft rumble of his stomach.
Sighing, he took out his hardly worn pocket watch and popped the top. Gazing at the face of the timepiece he came to a decision. Going over to Edward, he swept aside the soft, leafy branches, reached down and grabbed Ed by the upper arm, and pulled the blond to his feet.
"Let's go, Ed, Al," he said, looking at the suit of armor. "It's almost seven o'clock. I don't know about you but I'm hungry. I know you probably don't want to, but you need to eat."
For a moment, it looked like the boy was going to protest but his stomach spoke up first, rumbling loud enough for everyone to hear. Roy smirked at the faint blush on the boy's cheeks.
"Yeah, so, let's go already! You're buying!" he said, jerking his arm out of the Flame Alchemist's grasp.
Well of course I am. "And why am I paying?"
"Because it's your suggestion!"
Ah. Logical, I suppose. He surveyed Edward with a slight frown. If I ever have kids, they will not have his attitude, he promised himself. Nor will they study alchemy. Of course, if he ever produced kids, heaven help the world.
………
It wasn't exactly a restaurant, per se— more like a pub. Still, it was inside and more importantly, it was warm. The night was awfully cool now— Ed supposed that was natural when you lived on the water; the weather was probably erratic. Or it could have something to do with the storm that had suddenly blown in. Tucked into the wall nearest them was a great fireplace and the roaring heat the flames gave off felt wonderful. Currently, Edward and the Colonel were waiting for their food and drinking large tankards of spiced cider guaranteed by their waitress to warm their bones. It was working wonders. Al was the lucky one, Edward decided as he watched his brother stare into the flames. He didn't feel the cold. He paled then as the thoughts actually permeated his brain; he felt sick. Al wasn't the lucky one, he was. He could feel. He wasn't stuck in a suit of armor because of an idiotic mistake that his younger brother hadn't wanted to commit in the first place.
"Brother? What's wrong?"
What to tell the only light spot in your life… that was trapped as a soul in seven feet of steel? He opened his mouth to apologize for ever thinking such a thing and nixed the idea at the last possible second. Closing his eyes, he crossed his arms over his chest, and curled his lips into the smile that told Alphonse he was concealing something. "Nothing, Al. It's nothing."
"Brother, tell me," Al pleaded. He didn't want his brother to have to bear all the burdens. Ed had too many as it was! He just wanted to help...
"Yes, Fullmetal," Mustang said in the patronizing tone that never failed to make the blond fume. "What's wrong?"
"It's nothing, okay? Get off my back!" he spat harshly.
Mustang observed Edward from the corner of his eye as he took a long drink from his cider. Raising a brow he said, "You didn't need to raise your voice. All you had to do was tell us you didn't want to talk about it."
"Tell me, Colonel, what part of 'it's nothing' didn't you understand?"
Roy smirked at him but had a feeling that whatever had just bothered the blond had to do with the greatest mistake he'd ever made in his entire life. He took another long pull of the sweet apple mixture to hide his frown. Alphonse simply sighed and wished his brother wasn't so damned secretive. Might as well wish for a new body, while he was at it. Honestly, they knew how to do it; why couldn't he just suppress emotions and create the damned stone! Who cared… Al jolted and gasped drawing two sets of eyes towards him.
"Al?" Ed asked, concern lacing his voice.
"What? Oh, no, it was… umm, I thought I saw a cat," he finished weakly, hoping his brother would accept it. Of course, the suspicious look Edward gave him told him otherwise.
What the hell was going on, Roy wondered watching the brothers through narrowed eyes. Two depressed thoughts in under three minutes wasn't natural. On the impression that he was trying to get comfortable, he snuggled into the plush cushions of the booth they were seated at and scanned the room lackadaisically. His eyes encountered a pair that watched them plainly and made no effort to hide curiosity. Mustang's dark eyes narrowed at the man.
Why was he watching them? Did he know? Did he know about Ishbal and his part? Or about the taboo studies he'd conducted in his apartment? Did he know what a coward Mustang was to not have tried them, or the fact that he couldn't face up to his crimes: Ishballans, the doctors, Armstrong's injuries… Marcoh's…
What the… With a jolt, Mustang forced himself to pull out of the rut his mind had suddenly entered. Gritting his teeth, he ignored the depressing thoughts as his eyes narrowed even further at the other man. Suddenly, Edward dropped into cushions beside him and closed his eyes, looking for all the world relaxed… to the outside world, that is. Mustang looked down at Ed and surveyed his blond subordinate with a frown; the pipsqueak wasn't relaxed in the slightest.
"What's up?" the blond alchemist asked, not opening his eyes.
"We're being watched," he muttered.
Ed stiffened but didn't rise. He knew better than that. Scooting further back into the cushions, he lazily opened his eyes and looked around the room, making sure to look longingly at the kitchen a few times. "The dark-haired one?"
"That's the one."
Ed looked back at the man whom he couldn't see all too clearly. The shadows were just too dense around him. The flickering firelight battled with the dense shade giving a glimpse here and there of pale skin pulled over elegant cheekbones and a strong jaw with sensuous lips that were pulled into an amused smirk as his eerie crimson eyes watched them openly.
"Creepy, isn't he?"
"Oh, yeah," Ed replied. "And look," he said, his voice light and scornful as the stranger stood up and began to make his way to their table, "he's coming over to visit."
Sure enough, the stranger approached them and sat down without an invitation. "Buy y'all a drink?"
………
Lieutenant Colonel Hughes stifled a yawn, swiped a hand across his tired eyes, and continued to look through the business directory. The shop was very close to Central HQ so it should be listed. The Fuhrer had created the rule that all businesses had to register with one of the magistrates in the state's business department. The company then went into a directory under exactly what they specialized in. This allowed officers and citizens alike to find them quickly if there was ever a need for such a thing. The shop he was interested in was a retail shop for goods that were of the metaphysical nature.
But for some reason it just wasn't listed. It's almost like it sprang up out of nowhere. Impossible, but then I seem to be encountering a good many things that shouldn't be possible but have been.
Heaving a frustrated sigh, he blew a few loose strands of hair from his glasses and dragged his hand back up to the top. He checked the name he'd written down last night at home. Narrowing his eyes, Hughes slowly trailed an index finger down the finely printed list. It had to be here somewhere… just where?
"Interested in starting a business, Lieutenant? Perhaps a P.I. one? It'd be a success, I'm sure. Perhaps you'd be able to retire from the military early."
Maes froze in his perusal and frowned at the list. He'd recognize that snide, whiny voice anywhere. He and Falman hated the man. He tapped the bound paper in irritation and his frown grew deeper. "That's Lieutenant Colonel, Archer. Do you need a court martial to remind you?" he asked coolly.
He wasn't sure if his threat would work. Technically anyone of the higher-ranking officers could court martial someone of lower rank with proper reason. Technically.
"A court martial, sir? Isn't that a bit harsh?"
He looked up into Archer's paste-colored face and his own eyes narrowed a fraction at the barely hidden glee suppressed within those pale-gray orbs. I understand, he thought. Oh, yes, I understand. You live for conflict, you slimy bastard. If you could start a conflict using yourself as the poor victim, you would. "Harsh?" he asked, cradling his chin in his long fingers and pretending to give what he'd just said some serious thought. "No, I don't think so. Court marshalling you just might help improve your memory. That's Lieutenant Colonel to you. Keep it up, and you'll find yourself facing said trial. Am I understood, Lieutenant Archer?"
"Perfectly, sir," he responded, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger. He'd expected Hughes to back down or do something stupid like pull out one of his many pictures, not threaten him with a trial.
"I'm glad we understand each other. What do you need?" he asked, still all business.
Gritting his teeth, Archer shoved a slim, manila envelope at Hughes. "Major General Hakuro said you were expecting this."
"Hmm?" Taking the package—if one could even call it that— he used a thumb to break the seal holding the envelope shut and pulled out a plain file. Opening it, his eyes quickly skimmed the information before shutting it, placing it on his desk, and clasping his hands together on top of it. "Ah, yes, thank you very much for acting as a delivery boy, Archer. I have been waiting for this. Dismissed, Lieutenant."
The way the other man's face tightened with rage caused Maes's lips to twitch and he had to work valiantly not to grin: victory could wait. Instead, he just looked pointedly at the door and then at Archer. The Lieutenant's cheeks flushed—but he couldn't do anything outright; Hughes was a superior officer and in charge of investigations. Gnashing his teeth, he aimed a glare of absolute loathing at Hughes, turned on his heel, and left. Narrowing his green eyes in anger, Maes launched a knife; it sank into the molding.
………
Archer heard the 'thunk' just as the door slammed behind him. His eyes widened. Bastard! he thought, glaring over his shoulder at the door. He threw something at me! But what? He was in the investigations department for a reason, too. If anyone ever saw the smile that lit his face they'd call it sadistic. I'll bet I know. Rumor has it that Lieutenant Colonel Hughes is an expert knife-thrower. If I can just prove that he tossed that knife…
"Ah, there you are, Archer."
Not now. I'm trying to get Hughes booted from the military…
"Did Hughes get the file…er, Lieutenant Archer? Frank?"
On second thought… your presence here is perfect!
Major General Hakuro called and waved, trying in vain to capture his seething subordinate's attention. He watched in bemusement as Archer flung the door to Hughes's office open.
"You bastard!" he grated, secretly pleased. His war had started; he was sure of it. "How dare you!"
"Is something wrong, Archer?" Hughes asked, nodding respectfully to Hakuro. "You're not mad at me, are you?" he asked, a light curiosity filtering into his voice.
"You…you…threw one of your knives at me! I heard it hit the wall!"
Maes's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about? Knives?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest and making certain that said knife was safe and sound in its holster. "You must have heard this drop," he said, picking up a book that sat on the carpeting and showing it to him. "It fell just as you slammed the door shut and smacked into the molding; Sheska's going to kill me for being so careless," he said, shuddering at the thought of the former librarian and her temper.
"Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, what's going on here?"
"Major General, sir," he said, saluting. "I'm not sure what's happening. Lieutenant Archer here seems to think I threw a knife at him, although why, I can't imagine."
Conniving bastard!
Hakuro stared at the seething officer and then looked at the politely puzzled Maes Hughes. "I certainly hope that's not true, Hughes."
So it is true; he does throw knives! Now I simply have to prove that he did. Where's that knife…
"Sir, I honestly have no idea what Lieutenant Archer is talking about. This book fell off its shelf when he closed the door a bit harshly— but then, that door hates opening, so I can understand that it made him angry—"
What! That's not true! You lying little cheat!
"—Perhaps he heard this instead?" he finished, showing the slim hardbound volume to the two men.
Hakuro looked at Archer with a raised brow.
Archer glared at Hughes with hatred and seethed. "Yes," he bit out. "Yes, that must be it. How rude of me to assume otherwise. I'm very sorry Lieutenant Colonel Hughes." You lying little bastard, just you wait! You'll pay for this!
"Not a problem, Lieutenant. Sorry to have frightened you," Hughes said amicably, not missing the spark of anger in the other man's eyes. Of course the fact that I wasted the time throwing one of my knives at you is unforgivable. I hope they'll forgive me: it won't happen again.
"How was the East, Hughes? I heard that something heavy fell on you."
"Eh-heh." Hughes looked sheepish, placed a hand on the back of his head, and fiddled with his hair nervously. "You heard about that?" he asked, an embarrassed flush spreading across his cheekbones.
What's this? Archer wondered. Something I can use against him…? His eyes took on a look of glee that neither officer noticed.
"Pretty hard not to. Your fellow soldiers were quite amused."
"Yes, sir," he replied with a slight laugh, the blush gone. "I just couldn't help myself! Elysia's just too adorable and I wanted to show everyone my baby girl! By the way, how're the kids, sir?"
On the other hand…
"Fine, fine," Hakuro said, warming to the topic despite himself and inwardly damning the investigator for knowing his weakness. "They're getting so big, I can hardly keep up with them."
"They grow up so fast," Hughes said wistfully. "One minute they're babies and we're watching them sleep in their cribs; the next, they're bringing home their first dates."
The words connected and an odd shiver went through both fathers at that point.
"So true, Hughes, so true. They do grow up fast," Hakuro responded, not agreeing, disagreeing, or saying anything on the dreaded date comment. "Well, good luck to you on your current case. I'm not sure what information that file you asked for will yield but you have it. Good day to you. Archer?" With that, the Major General stepped from the room, Archer following him.
"Ah, General Hakuro, sir?" Hughes called, stepping out of the office and catching up to them.
"Yes, Lieutenant Colonel?" he asked, stopping and turning back to the man.
"I understand it's your anniversary this evening and that you're in need of a babysitter."
Hakuro stared at Hughes and blinked. How had he known…? "Yes, that's true. Mustang owes me after that bet— but he's on this latest mission with Fullmetal."
"Bet, sir?" Hughes asked, cocking his head to one side. Mustang made a bet with Hakuro? That doesn't sound like him.
Still too shocked that Hughes knew of his anniversary and his babysitting predicament, he said, "Mustang bet that both Elrics would end up as State Alchemists. As you know, Alphonse dropped out after the first part and only Edward went on."
Actually, Hughes hadn't known that but he simply nodded in agreement to Hakuro; the man crossed his arms and continued, "I don't know why Alphonse suddenly decided not to finish the exam— he did extremely well on the written portion, even better than Edward. Anyhow, Mustang lost the bet; therefore, he owes me."
"You could drop your kids off at my house, sir. I'm sure Gracia won't mind and Elysia would be happy to have playmates who aren't adults."
"Thank you, Hughes," Hakuro said, surprised. "That's most appreciated. Seven o'clock good for you? My wife and I have reservations at seven-thirty."
"Absolutely, sir."
"Wonderful! Simply wonderful! We'll drop them off then."
"We'll see you then, General Hakuro, sir," Maes said, smiling.
"Seven o'clock, Hughes," he repeated, walking off.
What the hell! Archer wondered. He looked at Hakuro walking off on cloud nine and then back at Hughes as he disappeared back inside his office. On second thought, I really don't want to know.
Back in his office, Hughes went over to the bookshelf and began to pick up and shift the other books that had fallen over when he'd removed the one he was holding. Placing said book back in its place—heaven help him if he put it in the wrong place, Sheska's wrath was nothing to mess with— he made his way over to the phone. Picking it up, he dialed and waited.
"Hi, sweetie! How's my baby girl?" he asked, cooing. "Did you have fun today? You went to the park and played with all the other kids? That's wonderful, darling! Sweetie-pie, where's mommy?" he asked. "Put mommy on the phone." Smiling, he waited, listening to his daughter carefully put the phone down and call for her mother. She's so precious, he thought to himself. He couldn't stop his grin from widening when he heard his wife's voice. "Hi honey," he said. "Listen—" he added, and proceeded to tell her about his promise to General Hakuro.
………
"Well, now that was interesting. I never would have pegged him as the type to get angry," Kagura said, releasing the investigator's image from her mirror. "Wonder what was in the file? I didn't get the chance to see. No matter," she said. She brought the mirror up again to eye level and looked at her reflection. "I wonder how the others are doing…"
………
"Sure," Mustang said, slamming his foot into Ed's and ignoring the glare he got in return. After all, that hurt him more; the boot didn't make metal any softer.
Their guest smirked and gestured to the serving girl standing at the counter and chatting with the chef. Frowning, the man tapped her arm and nodded back to him. The girl went rigid but made her way over to their table, albeit reluctantly. "Yes?" she asked.
"Round of drinks here, darlin'."
Frowning at him, she turned and walked back to the counter that was illuminated by only a lone light. Filling the mugs quickly, she brought them back and set them down in front of her customers. With a frown at their visitor, the buxom redhead added an extra plunk when setting his down, causing the beer to slosh on the table. Their guest's smirk only widened.
"Thank you, darlin'," he said, slinging an arm around her hips and giving her firm bottom a pat.
She shoved his arm away and frowned viciously at him. "Owner says you do that again, you're out."
The man pouted, giving her his best puppy eyes, but she didn't soften. "Last warning," she told him. Turning to Mustang, Ed, and Al, she smiled. "As soon as he clears off, I'll bring you your food. Hopefully, it won't take too long. Chef hates for the food to grow cold," she said cheerfully. Giving their visitor one last warning glare, she smoothed down her apron and walked over to the three wet bundles that had just come into the pub.
Well loved, aren't you? Mustang thought, looking at their… guest. Now that he was closer, he could see that the man's skin was even paler than he'd thought: alabaster, smooth and unblemished, not a scar on him and not one hint of a tan from the sun. He looks like a vampire, or something equally horrifying. The Flame Alchemist wasn't going to fool himself into thinking that he was anywhere near Hughes's caliber when it came to detective work but he wasn't stupid; he was a State Alchemist, after all—the military didn't take stupid people, although some would argue otherwise— and he knew that there was something very much off about this man.
The stranger picked up the mug of beer in front of him with a grin and took a deep drink from it. The shimmering golds and oranges danced on the man's obsidian-colored hair. The stuff looked like it was very thick and very long. In the fire's light, he could see the waves in the tightly packed strands. So how the hell did he fit long, wavy hair in the small cap without tearing the seams? Roy gave up; it wasn't really all that important. Of all the strange things he'd encountered, who cared about how he managed to get his hair one way or another?
"So."
Roy blinked and focused his attention on the man. "So?" he repeated.
That infuriating smirk curled his lips again and lit up his creepy eyes. "I hear you managed to piss off Komura Mishimi."
"Whom?"
"Komura Mishimi, he's one of the town leaders. Usually he's extremely laid back but you obviously managed to get under his skin. Good work."
"And you know this how?" Mustang asked, crossing his arms over his stomach and watching the man.
"Small Island," came the reply with a nonchalant shrug. "Word travels fast."
"Apparently." Not. This place isn't that small.
The stranger chuckled and took another sip of beer. He studied the three of them over the rim of the thick, ceramic mug. Quite a group they were, what fun. "No need to get upset."
Mustang decided that he didn't like the smooth, silky bass that spoke in slow but low tones. He gave a noncommittal response that earned him another chuckle and Roy watched as he took another pull of beer. The Flame Alchemist narrowed his eyes at their guest. Just how many drinks has he had? He's been in here at least as long as we have… probably longer. He shouldn't be this sober.
"Would you like to know the story that you've been denied?"
This sparked Roy's interest. "If you know it, absolutely. But first, friend, I'd like your name. Calling you guest—" Uninvited or otherwise— "just seems rude."
The smirk widened and another chuckle left his lips. "Mochigo Namurae, call me Namurae. And you, friend?" he asked, tossing Mustang's words back at him.
The Colonel felt an unpleasant grin cross his features. "Cain," he said. "Cain Havoc. These two," he said nodding to Ed and Al, "are my nephews. Russell," he said, mussing the golden-blond hair from its braid and ignoring the glare he received in return, "and Fletcher," he said, reaching across and putting his hand on Al's upper arm.
"Quite an interesting getup your nephew has."
"He has severe allergies. If he even lifts the faceplate of the armor he'll start to break out. There's a filter inside to cleanse the oxygen so whatever pollutant it carries can't hurt him."
Roy stared at Ed in barely veiled shock. What a story. He had to give the blond-haired boy credit.
"Hmm," was the only comment before Namurae took another sip of beer. "And where do you come from?"
"Dublith," Ed said.
"I'm surprised your parents allowed you to leave. Your home is very far away."
"Oh, we go back and visit often. But if you must know," Ed said, his voice taking on a laughing tone with a smile to match, "our mom was actually happy we went. We're not much help around the shop— what with Fletch's allergies and me always daydreaming or writing."
"My sister Izumi was very happy to send them to me. But if I didn't take them back once in a while," Mustang said, playing along, "she'd scalp me. She's younger but scarier. Our parents often said she was a hellion," his voice took on a reminiscing tone.
"Farm work didn't agree with you?" Namurae asked. "That is what Dublith is, is it not?"
"Not really… it's a bustling, thriving town," Alphonse said.
"Ah. My apologies. I was thinking of Resembool."
Ed's eyes narrowed but the blond said nothing.
"You were about to tell us the story of the jewel," Mustang pointed out, drawing the man's attention back to his promise.
Namurae frowned briefly at the Flame Alchemist, reminding Roy of a beast that had suddenly been denied its play toy. The frown then formed into that annoying smirk of his. "Ah, yes, of course. I'm sorry, Mr. Havoc. Your nephews are simply charming."
Yeah, sure. Try another. Roy simply smiled at the other man. "I couldn't agree with you more. My sister did a good job," he replied, casting what he hoped was a fond look at the brothers.
Ed responded with a smile that seemed to promise Mustang pain and lots of it. He tousled the blond's hair again, thinking that if Ed were a cat, he'd have clawed Mustang into ribbons.
Namurae smiled again. "So, to business. You might call the Shikon Jewel an alchemic mistake."
"An alchemic mistake?" Ed repeated. To his credit, his voice didn't sound too strangled.
Namurae simply looked at him, a smirk beginning to curl along his lips. "Yes," he drawled slowly. "The jewel's creator was an alchemist."
"What happened?" Al asked. Mustang's eyes narrowed when the man glanced at him and his lips quirked.
Namurae ran a slender, tapered finger around the rim of the mug and looked into it before answering. "Quite tragic, really. The story says that she was an alchemist of some renown. She was a healer—"
"A healer?" Ed interrupted. Alphonse wondered if he wasn't thinking of Dante, their teacher's teacher.
"Why, yes," replied that slow drawl. "In actuality she was a physician who preferred the term 'healer' because she used natural methods, rather than those taught at school—as well as alchemy, of course. Her main expertise was with plants, I believe, which she used to help her in her healing endeavors. One day, while on her way to a village that requested her abilities, she happened upon a man who was severely wounded. And, as I'm sure you've guessed, she healed him. He was understandably grateful.
"To show his gratitude to the woman who saved him, he began to follow her around, helping when he could, and before you ask," Namurae said, looking at Ed and Al, "no. He was not her apprentice, not yet anyway. But even a simple peasant or farmer can do basic treatments." He tossed Edward a cruel smirk. "Wouldn't you agree, Russell?"
Edward's lips compressed in fury and his golden eyes became molten. Who was this man and how did he know that Ed and Al had grown up in a country where farming was paramount for survival? Mustang saw him bite his tongue to restrain himself from snarling but even the Flame Alchemist could see that it was a losing battle: the man was enjoying his taunting. He ghosted his fingers over Ed's shoulder and gave the boy a blank look when he glanced at his superior. Blinking, he turned back to the man and returned the taunting smirk with an arrogant smile.
"Yeah," he replied. "Sure. You were saying?"
"Hmm," Namurae said, tilting his head to the side and leaning it on a propped up fist. "Ah, yes. The more the man watched her, the more his admiration grew. She tried to discourage him but he would not relent. He insisted on paying her back for helping him."
"Then why not pay a fee?" Mustang asked.
Their uninvited guest grinned in response. "You're forgetting that he was a poor man, extremely so. In a way, his survival depended on her grace."
"So what happened?" Ed asked. "Could you stop beating around the bush and get to the jewel?"
Same old Edward, Mustang thought.
"Of course. How silly of me to forget that children do not have the aptitude to sit through long stories."
"You going somewhere with that?" Edward asked, narrowing his eyes at the man.
"Absolutely not," came the reply accompanied by his smirk.
I don't like his smirk, either. It's all he's got, except that glib tongue, Mustang thought. How wrong he was.
"Anyhow, the story goes on to say that one day, she went to a village that requested her services and there fell in love with one of her patients. You can just imagine how her admirer took that. She moved to the village to be with the man she loved and her charge, now her apprentice, came with her. He was also her caretaker and took care of her house and her plants for her while she tended to those who sought her. To the outside world, the woman's lover, and to her, he gave the image of being happy for her; she needed happiness and it was obvious he wouldn't be able to grant it. In secret, however, his rage and jealousy festered and consumed him until his heart grew black with his hatred.
"He secretly began to study alchemy in hopes that if he used it around her, she would notice him and leave her lover. The years passed and it never happened— she never even noticed. He grew to hate her and her lover. One day, another village, about a day's journey away, called upon her. The headman's wife was soon to go into labor and they requested her to deliver the baby. She agreed and set out, but not before her lover asked her to marry him. She promised that when she returned from delivering the baby, she would become his wife.
"Preparations for the wedding started. Truthfully, those in the village knew that it was only a matter of time before the couple decided to settle down. Her admirer however, had a different plan in mind. The night before her return, he made a blade with his alchemy and killed her fiancé. The deed done, he left the house and took up residence where he could watch her. He wasn't disappointed. She came home from an extremely hard delivery only to find her lover dead and her former admirer gone. All that was left was the blade that he'd transfigured of the sake cups for the wedding, turned back to their original state and filled to the brims with blood.
"For the first time, she understood that it hadn't been the best idea to save him; he was a bandit, after all, and a wanted man according to the lord of the lands. Her heart turned to stone and she began to hate him. She swore that she would have revenge for what he'd done… why exactly do you look like you're about to fall asleep?" he asked Edward.
"Sorry," the blond replied, yawning. "It sounds like a sappy love tale. I was hoping for more action."
"You're in luck then," he said, pausing to take a quick drink from his mug. Setting it on the table he looked thoughtful for a moment. "I told you she vowed vengeance, and she meant it. But when they met to duel it out, alchemist to alchemist, things were not as she planned. He'd been experimenting, you see. He'd tried human transmutation, the forbidden aspect of alchemy and the beings that had stepped out instead, he used alchemy to bind them to his body… or rather, he found a way to… incorporate them, shall we say. It was her against an amalgamation. The story doesn't say just how long the battle waged but it was long and gruesome. In the end, she grew tired while he didn't. After all, homunculi generally don't get tired and he'd forged them into his body.
"She went to the forbidden art, too. Using the same formula and circle as him, she made him part of her. This brought an end to their battle but not to him. He could still contact her with his mind and he tried to make her do terrible things. She quit her post as a healer and moved away from the village to prevent any harm from befalling it. She realized that she needed to do away with him once and for all before the creature that he'd become overpowered her completely. She worked endlessly to create an array that would do what she wanted, despite the influence from him. It's been said that several times he almost managed to take control of her. Finally, three years later, she completed a transmutation circle that would be able to achieve what she needed.
"The story says that on a moonless night, she went out into a vast field and drew the circle. She stood in the middle and activated it. The array began to strip away everything that composed her and him. You understand what that means, right? She began to break down her own body and his. But she couldn't bear to finish it out. At the last possible second, she changed one crucial aspect of the array that she'd created. Instead of turning both bodies to ashes, it turned them into a crystallized stone," he finished, looking at them.
"The Shikon Jewel," Edward said.
"Why call it that?" Mustang asked. "Where did 'shikon' come from? If I'm not mistaken, that translates to four souls, or dead souls."
Namurae smirked again. "Smart of you to notice that," he said, his tone faintly condescending.
Roy barely suppressed a growl; it was only thanks to Edward kicking him in the shin and sending him the warning glance. He sent a glare at the boy.
The smirk on the man's face widened at the display. "It's said that he fused only two homunculi with him. Plus her soul and the soul of the man. Add them up and you get four."
"Homunculi don't have souls," Edward said flatly. "They're false copies created to fill a void in place of the original thing when human transmutation fails."
Too much, he'd said too much, he realized a second after the words left his mouth. Roy kicked him viciously and Al brought his fist down on his head.
"And how would you know so much about homunculi?" Namurae asked, ignoring Ed's cry of pain.
"An article I wrote," Mustang said quickly, sending Edward a warning glare. "I interviewed a prisoner on death row for trying human transmutation and he mentioned the homunculi and their lack of souls."
"Ah. I suppose that explains it," Namurae drawled slowly. "You have a good memory, Russell."
"Yeah," Ed agreed. "I do. A very good memory."
Roy bopped him on the head in the same place where Al hit him. "That's enough, Russell," he said smiling at the fuming blond. "I'm sure Namurae-san here doesn't want to hear your boasting. You're not that precious."
"Child abuser," Edward mumbled darkly, rubbing the sore spot and wincing.
Smiling, Mustang hit him yet again. Ah vengeance, he thought. Payback for all the times you've annoyed me. Life is good.
When Edward started to curse at his superior, Namurae smiled and stood: his deed was done. The bickering stopped and they looked at him; he smiled at them.
"I wish you all a pleasant evening," he said, picking up his mug and giving them a quick salute before walking away.
A feeling of relief swept through them as they watched him depart. A few seconds later, three steaming bowls of stew were placed in front of them. The three of them stared at the food and then shared a glance with each other. After that tale… neither Ed nor Mustang was very hungry at all. Still, they picked up their spoons and began to eat mechanically; knowing they'd need the strength the food would give them.
………
Shouldering one of the swinging doors open, Namurae turned around and watched the two eat their food emotionlessly. Smirking again, he quit the pub's entrance and walked towards the water. On his way, he came across a small group of men who were grumbling about the strangers. Smiling, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and made his way to them.
"Evening," he called.
"Evening," one responded cautiously.
One offered him a cigarette and he took it, gesturing for a light. Exhaling smoke into the air, he looked at the group. "Nice night," he commented lazily.
"It'd be nicer if those nosy strangers weren't here."
"Can't argue with you there, friend," Namurae said, exhaling more smoke. Letting the cigarette smolder, he studied the group for a second. "What if I told you where they're currently staying?"
"Where?" one short, pudgy one asked.
"What will you give me?" he asked, studying the cigarette.
"Whatever you want," said the one who'd given him the smoke.
"Good enough. Very well. They're staying at the inn owned by Arashimichi."
"'Michi-kun's place? By the heavens, why would he put them up?"
The men started to discuss this amongst themselves. Namurae slipped away and continued on his way, polishing off the cigarette as he walked. Humans have truly odd inventions. Looking back at them, he smirked and disappeared.
………
Komura Mishimi looked up from his reading and stared out into the black, moonless night. He had a bad feeling…
………
Little did we know just how interesting things were about to get. The journey was proving perilous and we'd barely scratched the surface. The island, which according to tourist brochures promised friendly hospitality, was fast becoming an unfriendly, violent place with a price on our blood.
………
Author's notes: And here's yet another chapter. Honestly, I just couldn't think of a way to get this chapter started. And then, I found myself watching an old episode of Star Trek before leaving for work and it hit me—why not start the chapter like they do sometimes, with the captain or vice-captain narrating to their logs? It worked out rather well, if I do say so myself.
A tentative preview for chapter four, titled The Tower or The Hanged Man.
Lieutenant Colonel Hughes stuck his head in the room and grinned at Roy's lieutenant and right-hand man…woman.
"Howdy-hey, Lieutenant Hawkeye!" he crowed jovially, saluting her indolently with two fingers.
"Good morning, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes," she replied saluting him back properly, disapproval clear in her rigid stance.
"Now, now Hawkeye. Roy's not here, you don't need to be so uptight," he chided.
"Did you need something, sir?" she asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from her superior, whom she dearly missed.
"No, not really. Actually, I was wondering if I couldn't borrow you for a few hours."