Chapter 15

"You okay, Ed?"

Ed lifted his forearm from where he had it resting over his eyes. "Yeah. I'm just trying to keep my head from spinning."

Winry shifted a little so that her shadow didn't block the light from the workroom window. Rada was in the house, furiously cleaning it to take her mind off her worries, employing Danika to help her. She let Winry work on Ed's leg in her sewing room because the light was better there at that time of day. They had moved a table close to the west-facing window. In his undershorts, Ed was laying on his back on it and Winry sat on a stool alongside it.

She nodded, changing the socket on her wrench to a smaller size. "It's certainly a lot to take in."

Instead of giving him her usual scolding while she cleaned and repaired his knee joint, she had filled him in on what she had learned since she arrived in Ishval. Having gotten over his initial astonishment, the missing parts of Scar's story fell into place, but it was Danika's story that intrigued him the most. Ed lay gazing up at the ceiling from under his arm.

"That bastard!" he suddenly declared.

Winry gave a jump and stared at him. "What? Who?"

Ed raised himself on his elbows. "Scar. Alchemists-Who-Turn-Their-Backs-On-The-Ways-Of-God-Must-Perish Scar. He beat us to it! Talk about turning Equivalent Exchange upside down!" He frowned. "Or maybe he turned it right side up. I dunno."

Winry rolled her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Me and Al," Ed replied, laying back down and folding his arms behind his head. "Between the two of us, we've been searching for ways to help people who have been hurt by alchemy, all because of one little girl we couldn't save. Then along comes another little girl who would have fallen right through the cracks and grown up all twisted and crazy like Kimblee. So who should come along but Scar, of all people, and he picked that little girl up and gave her and her mom hope and a new life and…" He shook his head and said, almost to himself, "And I bet he'll stick around, too." He glared up at the ceiling, struggling stubbornly with a juvenile feeling of what he thought was injustice but was, in fact, envy. "Damn it!" he blurted out forcefully. "He's done it all!"

"Well," Winry remarked, frowning down at a minute connection in Ed's knee, "you can't fault him for not being thorough."

Ed crooked a smirk. "I guess not. I just never would have pictured him as a…I don't know…the family type."

"Of course he is, Ed!" Winry corrected him. "For starters, he was already in love with Danika's mother. He absolutely adores her!" She smiled. "He's such a romantic!"

Ed turned his head to give her a wry look. "A romantic? That six-year rampage he was on was hardly romantic."

Winry lifted a shoulder. "Well, think about it. If he had been more of a realist, like his brother, he probably would have reacted differently. During the war, when he thought he'd lost everything, it must have broken his heart."

Ed considered her somberly. "Is that what he told you? Because he broke your heart, too, remember?"

That was one part of the story that she hadn't yet related to him. Winry gazed down at the remainder of the collection of metal that she had neatly arranged. She only had a few crucial bits to attach. "I remember," she said quietly. "We haven't really…discussed that." She looked back at Ed with a solemn, almost defiant look. "When I'm ready to hear it, and when he's ready to tell me, he'll tell me. For now, we have an understanding."

Ed continued to watch her as she looked away from his gaze. "An understanding? That sounds vague and creepy, Winry."

She gave him a quick glance. "Well, it's not. It's just hard to explain." She ratcheted in one of the last pieces. "It's just something that happened."

Ed lifted his head. "What do you mean, something that happened?" he demanded. He stared at her in alarm and revulsion. "What happened?"

Winry tightened the last nut, connecting the nerves. Ed's body convulsed and he let out a loud yelp. She glared at him. "Not what you seem to be thinking, Edward Elric! Shame on you! I just…became part of his family."

With a groan, Ed sat up. "As what? One of his wives?"

Winry snatched up a wrench, but Ed quickly grabbed her wrist. "Okay, okay! Sorry! I didn't really mean that!" he said. He let go of Winry's wrist and eyed the wrench cautiously. "Havoc told me something about the governor practically adopting you. I didn't really think that much about it then, but that's what you're talking about, huh?"

Winry put the wrench down. "Yes, Ed, that's what I'm talking about, and like I said, it just sort of happened. Andakar—you really should stop calling him Scar, you know—has been very protective of me ever since I got here."

"Well, considering what he owes you," Ed mused, "it's the very least he could do. But considering what he actually owes you—" he added with emphasis.

"Then I guess you'd say he owes me a family," Winry finished for him, packing her tools back into the case she brought them in.

She didn't elaborate on that. Ed decided he'd delve into that later. There was another subject he wanted to broach. "Havoc also said something about you having to fight off admirers. What's up with that?"

Winry stared at him with genuine blankness. "What?"

"Like that Stoyan guy." Ed gave a nod toward the general area of the rest of Ishval. "To begin with, it's like he took an instant dislike to me the moment he met me. And then he was practically eating you up with his eyes and trying to impress you by how efficient and helpful he is."

Winry looked even blanker. "He was acting efficient and helpful because he is. And yes, he's actually very impressive. He's one of the musicians with Spirit of Ishval, too! He's pretty much Dejan's assistant."

"Wait. What? Who?"

Winry let out an exasperated sigh. "Dejan Shua! He's the leader of Spirit of Ishval! The music group! Don't you listen to the radio?"

"Not really. Not music. I read books."

"Anyway, Dejan married Andakar's cousin, Naisha. And Colonel Miles married Andakar's other cousin Vesya, and his other cousin Damyan, who plays the bagpipe and he's also a potter—he makes really nice things, Ed!—he married a girl named Yasna, who's also part of Spirit of Ishval, so they're all a great big family!"

"That's great," Ed replied, who confused almost immediately. "But what about this Stoyan guy?"

Winry waved her hand. "Oh, he's just like that. He's just a nice guy."

"Maybe he is, but he's still got his eye on you!"

"Oh, Ed! Don't be ridiculous! It's not like he's flirting with me!"

"The hell he isn't!"

"Now Stanno is a different matter entirely," Winry said, shaking a finger for emphasis. "He's a shameless flirt, but he's just goofing around. He's harmless."

Ed clutched at his head. "Who…is…" he started to groan, then he looked up. "Wait! Wait! You mentioned him!" he said triumphantly.

"Yes, Ed. So glad you were paying attention," Winry replied dryly. "He's the one Rada was engaged to and he dumped her. Now he's the chieftain of Kanda. And like I said, he's harmless. And I can't think of anyone else. Unless you count Manfred. He's a monkey with the circus," she explained quickly, waving her hand. "He's sort of the original cheeky monkey. Definitely harmless."

Ed regarded her with a frown. "Fine. I still don't like Stoyan flirting with you."

"Edward!" Winry closed her took case with an irritated motion and stood up. "He's not flirting with me! And how would you even know?" she went on. "You don't flirt! I don't even think you know how!"

Ed swung his legs over the edge of the table and took Winry by the shoulders. He pulled her close to him and gave her a long, slow kiss. When their lips parted, they were both left breathless and wide-eyed.

"How did you get so good at that?" Winry gasped.

"Me?" Ed countered. "What about you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, you! And how would you even know how good 'good' is supposed to be?" Ed gave her a mock glare. "Have you been practicing? With Stoyan or Stanno? Or maybe Manfred the monkey?"

Winry pulled back her fist but Ed held up his hands. "No! Please! I'm kidding! Honest!" He laughed as Winry settled down, and he slid off the table and hugged her, something he figured he needed to start doing more often. "We just fit, I guess."

Winry brought her arms up around his back. "You're such an idiot!" she said fondly. She had forgotten how good it felt to have his chin clear her head.

Ed laughed quietly. "Maybe. Maybe this idiot doesn't know how to flirt. Maybe he should have tried a little harder. But this idiot came clear across Amestris in record time just to see if you were all right," he replied. "And now that he's here, he's gonna give his old pal Scar a break and look after you himself."

Winry gave a contented sigh and then giggled. "Maybe it's a good thing your old pal Scar isn't here right now. If he saw us alone with you in just your shorts, we'd never hear the end of it."

"That kid's gotta have hams like a prize sow."

Squashed against each other in a rickshaw that comfortably sat two, three gentlemen of the journalistic persuasion observed with awe the progress that their puller was making. After their trek across the desert from the train station to civilization (if you could call it that), they eagerly snatched up his offer of a ride, promising him a generous remuneration for his pains. They were impressed with the way he trotted almost effortlessly, pulling three grown men in his rickshaw. If nothing else came of this venture, at least they were being treated to something mildly exotic and they would have satirical fun with it in their respective columns.

The young man was enthusiastic and helpful, if not too bright. It was pretty much what they expected from provincials in general and Ishvalans in particular. He said he knew who Scar was, and he had scratched his head over the photo in The Delver, his dusky features screwed up in concentration. Then, as though a light had suddenly switched on in his otherwise underpowered cranial cavity, he snapped his fingers.

"You know what?" he declared. The three of them leaned closer to him in anticipation. "I kind of think I might have seen somebody who maybe looked like this!"

"Kind of. Might have. Maybe," Bates parroted under his breath once they had gotten underway. He was seriously beginning to wonder about this kid.

"Hey, it's more than we've gotten from anybody so—oof!—far," Greggs replied as they went over a loose paving stone in the street.

Atash, as the young man had introduced himself, looked back over his shoulder with a grin that did not strike them as entirely apologetic. "Your pardon, Zhaaradii!" he called. He then nearly tipped them out one side of the rickshaw with a sudden swerve to avoid an old woman. She shook her walking stick at them and spewed out what could possibly have been some family curse.

McGraw readjusted his fedora. "Where exactly are we going?"

Greggs shrugged. "I dunno, but we're sure covering a lot of ground this way. Right now I'm just glad to get off my dogs and sit back."

Their puller was taking them up and down streets, through marketplaces and residential neighborhoods, although the reporters were having trouble telling the difference. If it wasn't for the fact that they saw the occasional blue-uniformed soldier, they would have felt as though they had traveled back to some ancient time. This place just seemed so damn backwards.

At one point, another rickshaw, carrying another load of similarly bemused Amestrians who had similarly promised large tips, came up from the opposite direction. The two pullers slowed and paused briefly. They rattled excitedly at each other in their incomprehensible language. The other puller set down the shafts of his rickshaw, which threatened to spill its alarmed contents. He held out his hand to one of them.

"Let me see that paper again!"

He was handed one of the many copies of The Delver that were currently in circulation. The boy waved it at his colleague and the two fell to examining it. Then they jabbered heatedly for several moments. It was unclear whether they had come to some sort of agreement or whether an agreement had been proved futile, but they suddenly broke off and continued on their separate ways.

As Atash trotted along, Bates called up to him. "What was that all about?"

The young man gave a contemptuous toss of his head. "That Yoru's got nothin' but goat dung between his ears! He thinks he saw Scar a couple of weeks ago over behind the weavers' quarter. I told him I'm sure I saw Scar out behind the blacksmith's about that same time. They're clear across town from each other!"

Greggs grabbed his notebook and tried to hold his pencil steady against the paper as they jostled along. "Describe who you think you saw!"

"Let me see!" Atash mused, still loping along without missing a beat. "I remember a huge man! Eh-h, but he was a big one! It was early morning. He looked like he'd been living rough. His clothes were all torn up. He was going through the blacksmith's garbage out back."

"Did you see a scar on his face?" Bates asked.

"That I did, Zhaarad!" Atash replied. "It was white against his face and all lumpy and wicked looking!"

"Did he see you?"

Atash laughed. "I'm much too quick!"

"Did you know who he was?"

"Of course I did! Everybody knows who Scar is!"

"Did it occur to you to alert the authorities?" McGraw asked him.

Atash glanced back at him as though the reporter had possibly gotten a little too much sun. "No! I was too scared! It could have been a ghost for all I know, and nobody would believe me. Or maybe Scar came back as a jhavahal!" He added ominously. He visibly shuddered. "I wouldn't dare risk having it come after me and suck the marrow out of my bones!"

The reporters rolled their eyes at each other. "But you're telling us about it now," Bates observed.

Atash gave a chuckle. "'Cause it's been a while! Jhavahals are stupid. They have really short memories. Besides, this is more fun! Hold tight, Zhaaradii!"

He took a particularly sharp turn around a corner, slamming his three passengers against the right side of the rickshaw. Once McGraw managed to push the other two off him and they straightened up, they looked up at the road ahead.

"Whoa! Get a load of him!" Greggs said, pointing with a jerk of his chin.

"Hey, kid!" Bates called out. "Hold up for a minute!"

Just ahead, mounted on a sleek sorrel mare, was an officer of the Amestrian military. Over his uniform was one of those white overcoats used in rough terrain so his rank was not immediately apparent, but judging by his noble bearing and the way he sat his mount, it was quite apparent that he exercised some considerable authority. Although he wore a pair of dark glasses, he had the dark complexion and silver-white hair of an Ishvalan.

"Hey, that must be the garrison commander!" Bates hissed to his colleagues. "What's his name?"

"Aw, crap!" Greggs muttered. "It's right on the tip of my tongue!"

"Don't you bozos do any research before you go out on a story?" McGraw sneered.

"Okay, Mr. Walking Encyclopedia!" Bates sneered back. "Who is he?"

"Colonel Miles, formerly second-in-command up at Briggs. A tough nuts customer, from what I hear."

Duly impressed, Greggs nodded. "From Briggs, he'd have to be."

Their rickshaw slowed and stopped as the mounted officer reined alongside them. He gave them a polite nod. "Doishteve na Ishval, gentlemen," he greeted them.

"Colonel Miles, I presume?" McGraw asked, adjusting his hat brim against the sun.

"You presume correctly," Miles replied. "I'm flattered to be recognized." He turned a little in his saddle. "Atash, are you taking good care of our visitors?"

Atash bobbed his head. "Oh, yes, your honor!" he replied eagerly. "I was just taking them to where I thought I saw—" He stopped for a moment, hunching his shoulders up a little. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Where I thought I saw Scar!"

Miles gave a condescending nod. "You do that, young Atash. And don't be afraid of jhavahals. You know they're not real, right?"

Atash scowled truculently and gave a slow nod. Miles let out a sigh and turned back to the reporters. "Well, I hope you enjoy your stay with us, gentlemen."

He made as though he was about to spur his horse forward, but Bates snatched his copy of The Delver out of his overcoat pocket. "Excuse me, Colonel! Have you seen this photo yet?"

He held it up and Miles leaned down to take it. He frowned down at the paper for a moment. "Yes, I've seen this around. A number of your colleagues have shown it to me already." He handed it back. "Not my usual reading material."

"May we have your opinion on it?" McGraw asked.

"Professional or personal?"

McGraw shrugged. "Either. Both."

"Well, that ought to be simple," Miles replied easily. "Either way, I think it's bullshit."

The reporters glanced at each other. "Care to elaborate on that, sir?" Greggs asked.

"On bullshit?" Miles shook his head. "It stinks. If you step in it, the stink gets on you. That's why I stay away from it." He smiled at them, his lips an otherwise hard line. "Other than that, gentlemen, I'm afraid I can't help you."

He glanced over at Atash and said a few words in Ishvalan. The young man gave a smart salute and replied, apparently in the affirmative. Miles gave the reporters a parting glance and urged his mare onwards. They watched him over their shoulders for a moment, then turned back to their puller.

"What did he say?" Bates asked.

Atash gripped the shaft handles. "He said to be thorough!" he replied, and he bolted forward, flinging his passengers back against the seat.

Messrs. Bates, Greggs, and McGraw, along with a number of their colleagues, stared with dismay at the rough half-stone, half-wood shacks that made up the caravanserai. After a couple of hours of completely fruitless, kindey-rattling rambling around Ishval, they started asking about lodgings while it was still early. The pullers could only shake their heads in sympathy. Ishval was still in the process of restoring itself, and hotels were at the bottom of the list.

McGraw grumbled and Bates gave him a shove against his shoulder. "Don't you do any research before you go out on a story, Bozo?"

"Well, you sure didn't!" McGraw snapped back. He turned to Atash, who stood nearby, looking helpful yet feckless. "This is the best you can do?" he demanded.

"I'm afraid so, Zhaaradii," the young man replied with a tragic expression. "If you had friends here, they could have put you up, but…" He shrugged to signify either his remorse or the fact that these men were, in fact, friendless. He brightened a little. "There's fresh straw! And the well is a good one! You'll find plenty of places in town to eat!" He rubbed his belly like the village idiot his passengers took him to be.

The reporters turned back to consider their accommodations for the night. A few had started exploring, finding stalls indeed filled with straw. The few intrepid women reporters had decided to make the best of things and had staked out a couple of the larger stalls. They had already started to instruct their pullers to see about providing them with blankets, promising them handsome tips for whatever they could get their hands on.

Atash regarded his passengers with proprietary compassion. "I know you're probably used to much grander places," he said. "But we're simple folk here." He suddenly grinned. "You should come to the circus tonight!" he exclaimed. "It sounds like fun! You can forget your troubles for a little while!"

Greggs let out a sigh. "I guess that's about all we can do for now."

Bates nodded. "There'll probably be a pretty good crowd there. I don't expect they get much excitement around here." He glanced at his companions. "We might even be able to pick up a lead."

With this optimistic idea, the reporters proceeded to pick out a spot for themselves to return to later that night.

The pullers gathered together briefly, drinking from canteens and talking quietly and casually amongst themselves in Ishvalan.

"Did you pull the jhavahal story on them, Atash?" one of the young men asked.

Atash nodded. "It was all I could do not to piss myself."

Yoru let out a snicker and Atash jabbed him with his elbow. "Keep it down!" he muttered. Taking a drink from his canteen, he went on. "You should have heard the colonel. He was brilliant! Ishvala bless the man to his tenth generation!"

The other pullers nodded sagely. "The colonel said he'd treat us all to dinner after this," one of them remarked.

"We could treat him!" another replied. "We're going to be rich after this, brothers!"

This was met with more sagacious nods.