The Waterstone of the Wise [4]

[scriveyner]

.:Chapter Four:.

Florence

The bulky man slumped forward, his neck surely broken by the whip that was coiled around it. Indy ran forward, the bullwhip going slack as he collected it. He had not intended to break the man's neck but rather ensnare his raised arm; however the man had turned at the last moment. That was that, he would not mourn the passing of a League of Shadows thug.

The man was dressed in all black, the cut of his clothes vaguely foreign. Indy patted the man down, relieving the body of a pistol and several papers, most of them in Italian. Some had the pictograph Oriental writing - those were likely his orders from the assassin Ling Yao. Indy stuffed all the papers in the satchel he still wore over his shoulder, and then looked around.

There was sunlight streaming through grates not far over his head, illuminating this passage through the city depths. It was not as dark and foreboding as the sewers that led under the buildings that no light passed through. He had lost Nicholai, just as this man had - Nicholai Boucherie likely knew these sewers better than any man alive - and judging by the amount of books accumulated in his living space, he had been down here a long, long time.

Nicholai was a strange man, although Indy could confess to having met stranger in his many expeditions across the globe. There was little here that could lead him to the purchaser of the auction - though Indy had a feeling that he needed to work his way up further than just a few measly assassins. However … this whole business with "the Philosopher's Stone" was leaving him uneasy. There was no such thing, he would swear up and down that the Stone was a myth, an embellishment, a mythical Holy Grail for ancient scientists to set their sights upon. Chasing after this fairy tale was as futile as his own father chasing after the Grail legend … it would only end in tragedy.

But Elric didn't seem fazed by that. He seemed to accept the Stone as if it was something that had actually - or could, actually - exist. Boucherie acted like Elric had laid hands on the Stone himself, which was frankly, ridiculous. If Edward Elric had the Philosopher's Stone, then what was he doing teaching college-level Chemistry courses? The Stone promised eternal riches - and, most importantly - eternal life.

Mystery upon mystery. But the first thing to deal with was getting out of this sewer. Indy glanced around until he spotted an intact ladder, leading toward one of the many grates that peppered the ceiling of the sewer. If Boucherie had any brains he went up and kept going - the man was a stick and from the way he flailed about probably had the fighting experience of a fruit fly. He would be smart to go to ground and let Indy take care of his pursuer.

The grate was unlocked. Indy shouldered it open, balanced precariously on the top lip of the ladder, and then pulled himself street-level. Several startled tourists moved out of the way as he replaced the grate, and Indy could not help but tip his hat at a few pretty women before making his way down the street, pulling the brim of his fedora down to shade his eyes. He had to figure out a plan, he had lost his only lead in the dead League of Shadows grunt - there was no telling where Boucherie went, and Elric - well, he felt bad for abandoning the man to the jaws of the assassin but he looked like he was holding his own.

Indy's shoulder brushed another man's as he pushed through the growing crowd of afternoon traffic. He was lost in thought, and barely mumbled a "perdonatemi." The man he had bumped in to did not really give him a second look, and Indy continued several paces down the street before he realized that he had only seen that particular shade of blond hair once before. He stopped and turned on the sidewalk. It was a slim chance, but a curious one.

"'Scusi!" Indy called, jogging back down the sidewalk after the blond-haired man. He had a woman beside him and they both stopped and looked at Indy curiously as he caught up with them. Here went nothing. "I don't suppose you happen to have a brother…?"

~ * ~

Edward finally recovered his balance and yanked his sleeve away from Nicholai. "Stop DRAGGING me," he said firmly, and the taller man took a step back, managing to look both wounded and apologetic.

They were stopped in an alley that wound between two old, tall buildings. In the distance, church bells were chiming the early afternoon hour. Edward pulled on the sleeves of his coat, and frowned at where the dagger had torn completely through both his jacket and the sleeve of his button-down shirt. The automail glinted through, catching the sunlight. A little disgusted, Edward tugged on his coat sleeve, as if that would help disguise the metal. The cuffs of the jacket and sleeve on his right arm were singed as well.

"A curious prosthetic," Nicholai said, and Edward dropped his right arm to his side, left hand reflexively covering the exposed metal. Now that he had a moment to stop and breathe the pain had started, a dull ache along the metal pressed into the skin of his shoulder. "Where does the metal stop, and the flesh begin?"

Edward opened his mouth to retort, and then closed it. How did Nicholai know his arm was false? For all he knew it was just some armor worn under his clothes. His fingers tightened on the grill of his automail as he stared at Nicholai. "How do you know it's a prosthetic?"

Nicholai favored him with an odd grin, and Edward had a moment of disquiet. Everything had spun so strangely out of control since the assassin had appeared before him - the years that he had spent working so hard on being ordinary seemed to be completely wasted. "Come now, young one," Nicholai urged. "It is not far now - unless they've relocated, of course."

Edward watched as the tall man moved quickly down the alley, his unease continuing. This man - there was something going on here that he did not quite have a handle on, and it was bothering him greatly. He could not shake the feeling that this entire thing was an elaborate set-up, a trap to separate him and Jones and lead him right into the clutches of the League of Shadows.

But Ling had genuinely wanted to grab Nicholai. As soon as he saw the other man he no longer seemed to care about capturing Edward. There was something about this man that the League of Shadows wanted dearly and for the life of him, Edward wanted to know what. So, with his hand still covering as much of his automail as he could, he followed Nicholai down the alley and back out into the streets of Florence.

The afternoon traffic had increased several fold. There were seemingly more tourists on the street, and the presence of the Fascist military had nearly doubled. Edward stared defiantly at a few as he passed, and they watched him suspiciously. Nicholai grabbed his arm and kept him from stopping in the street.

"Our quarrel is not with them," Nicholai told him in a low, warning tone. "Not yet."

"Not yet?" Edward repeated incredulously, but Nicholai did not answer him, so Edward continued to watch the people around them as they walked the streets of the city.

Abruptly, Nicholai stopped. Edward glanced at him, and he nodded to a large, old building off of the main thoroughfare. They had walked away from the plaza and were in the side streets now. Delivery trucks were parked all along the street, and there was not nearly the same level of foot traffic as there was out along the boulevard. "That the place?" Edward asked.

"I doubt my wife is held there," Nicholai said. "But they will know where to find her."

The building looked just the same as all the others. There were no guards posted, nor any indication that the League of Shadows was using the building at all. Edward nodded his head. "So, how are we going to go in?"

"This way." Nicholai urged him toward a delivery entrance, with a single large door. Edward followed.

The building was almost too quiet. Edward jimmied the door lock and shoved the delivery door open, which rolled up over his head, while Nicholai stood watch. No one came running, so cautiously, they both entered.

Edward walked into an alchemist's lab.

He stopped a few paces in from the doorway and looked around. Several long tables, full of glassware - vials full of liquid, beakers and burners with various elements burbling away merrily. There were books scattered everywhere, laying on tables and stacked on the floor. Some of the manuscripts looked positively ancient and they were sitting propped open with measure cups used to mark the pages. The room was lit only by the light that streamed from behind them and the few small fires lit underneath several beakers. Edward glanced over his shoulder at Nicholai, and then balled his fists.

Nicholai looked as surprised as Edward to see the lab. He moved to a table, instantly curious, and Edward looked around again.

This time, with Nicholai out of the light, the sunlight ran up against the far wall. The glint of sunlight against metal caught Edward's eye, and when he saw the armor a small tremor of fear worked its way into his belly.

There were several sets of armor lined up against the wall that Edward immediately recognized. They were the suits of armor Eckhart's men had worn all those years ago - even if they didn't have the hardened black material crusted over them he would have recognized them in a heartbeat. Edward crossed the room quickly, making Nicholai look up at him. "What is it?"

"This armor," Edward said.

There were three complete suits of armor, and on the back tables there lay gauntlets and helmets, the deconstructed remains of at least one or two other suits. The black material - from The Gate, Edward knew - scraped off in places. "This is bad," Edward said. "This is very, very bad."

"A pity, I thought you would have been more curious," a third voice said. Edward turned quickly, his hands balled into fists as someone turned on the lights. The electric lights hummed to life above their heads, illuminating the entire laboratory for them both to see. Standing in a doorway, with a revolver in his hand was -

"Eiselstein," Edward said. The man in the doorway cocked his head slightly, his silver hair glinting the in the light as he regarded Edward with a curious expression on his face.

"I don't believe we've ever been introduced, Professor Elric," he said. "But yes, I am Wilhem von Eiselstein. I am glad you know of me, though, for this makes things quite a bit simpler."

Edward swallowed, a bitter taste in his throat. He did know Eiselstein - or at least, he had.The Wilhem Eiselstein of Amestris had been an incredibly talented and famous alchemist. Edward had only met him a handful of times before the man's gruesome and untimely end, but if this man was anything like the one he had met in Amestris, this was probably not going to turn out well. "How do you know who I am?"

Eiselstein did not lower his revolver. "How could I not? Your name comes up frequently." He nodded at the suits of armor. "You know what did this to them, do you not?"

Of course he knew. The Gate had torn those soldiers limb from limb. He still did not know why the Gate did not attack him or Alphonse in similar ways, and frankly he had stopped caring. "I don't have a clue in hell what you're talking about, mister," Edward lied through his teeth. "Why are you sending goons halfway around the world to try to talk to me? I'm just a Chemistry teacher."

"Don't play games with me!" Eiselstein shouted. Edward narrowed his eyes, the man was trying to startle him, to throw him off guard. "I know exactly what you are, Edward Elric - I have it all right here." Eiselstein withdrew a small bound notebook from his inner jacket pocket. Edward stared at the leather-bound notebook, stuffed full to bursting with papers barely contained within it. He had not seen that book in years, had not passed a thought on it since he saw Alphonse for the first time in the flesh.

"You-" Edward breathed.

"Recognize it, don't you?" Eiselstein tucked the notebook back into his jacket pocket, where it was safe against his chest. "It was your father's. The Nazis took it when they took him - it was by pure luck that it escaped the purge when they burned all of Eckhart's materials."

"That doesn't belong to you," Edward said, his voice low.

"It doesn't matter now, does it?" Eiselstein's smile was cold. "So tell me, Edward Elric - Alchemist of the People - how do I obtain the Philosopher's Stone?"

Edward swallowed a growl. He resisted the urge to glance around and locate Nicholai, Eiselstein's attention was on him. He was not afraid - he was angry. All these years, building these quiet, normal, mundane lives for both he and Alphonse and it was all blown to hell by this arrogant Nazi prick - he was clenching his automail fist so hard he could hear the bearings in his hand click.

"You can't," he said flatly. "It's impossible to create it here. Don't my father's notes tell you that?"

"They do," Eiselstein confirmed. "But I also know that they lie, because the Philosopher's Stone HAS been made here, successfully, before. Isn't that right, Nicholai of Boucherie?"

Edward turned his head slowly to look at Nicholai. The red-haired man was still standing at one of the tables, he had looked up at being addressed. Edward's heart sank, he was right. It had been a trap, all of it. And, like the idiot he was he had walked right into it.

However, the expression that crossed Nicholai's face was not of triumph but of concern. He stared at Eiselstein, seeming to forget that Edward even existed. "What are you talking about?"

"Your success with the Stone of the Sages, of course," Eiselstein's gun was still trained on Edward - he was waiting for the revolver to falter, eyes moving from the weapon to Nicholai and back again. "I never would have dreamed to search for you under the name Boucherie. It's quite clever, I must admit."

"Nicholai?" Edward asked, not taking his eyes from Eiselstein.

"You play a dangerous game, Eiselstein," Nicholai warned as he straightened. He looked strange in the florescent light, haunted. "The Stone is not the plaything of mortal men and bullies."

"And you would horde its magic for yourself, then?" Eiselstein laughed, and looked at Edward. "You have no idea who you have brought before me today, do you? Boucherie is not his name, it is where he was buried."

Eiselstein was not making any sense. Edward looked to Nicholai, who shook his head once, his arms crossed and looking distinctly unimpressed. "I was never buried."

"Forgive me then, when you buried your empty casket as a young man, in the year of our Lord, fourteen hundred and eighteen." Eiselstein's grin was wide, and almost manic. "This man that you brought before me today, Professor? He is none other than the Immortal Sage himself, Nicholas Flamel."

~ * ~

Sofia's fingers dug into Alphonse's arm as he stared at the man who had approached them on the street. He was smudged with dirt, the bottoms of his trousers were damp and he just gave off such an air of scoundrel that it almost made Alphonse want to take a few steps back. The question was so entirely out of the blue that it caused him to pause - but given that they had remarkably few leads on where to find Edward once they had gotten to Florence that this man may have just given them the first opening all day.

The plane trip had been rough, and uncomfortable. Sofia was full of questions and Alphonse promised her a lot of answers for when they found Edward. He knew the basics, of course - but given that most of their adventures occurred in that dark hole in his memory it was better still to wait for his brother to explain it all. Sofia had grudgingly accepted the explanation once Alphonse reminded her of his missing memories - very grudgingly. But now the first step was to find Edward, and then they could go from there.

Alphonse looked the stranger up and down, there was something almost familiar about the man niggling away at his memory, almost like he had seen him before somewhere. "Yes," he said cautiously, answering the man in English, the language he had posed the question in. "I do. Don't a lot of people?"

The man lit up slightly. "About this high," he gestured, his hand flat, slightly above the line of his nose. "Blond, ponytail, metal arm?"

Alphonse opened his mouth, and then shut it again because, how many people in this world had an arm made entirely out of metal? "How do you know Ed?"

"You ARE Alphonse," the man said, relieved. He stuck his hand out. "Indiana Jones."

"Doctor Jones?" Sofia said, and Indy looked at her. "The archeology professor?"

"Yeah … that's me," Indy said as Alphonse took his hand and shook it. "Have we met?"

"My wife, Sofia," Alphonse said.

"They talk of you at the museum, we saw you speak in London a few years ago," Sofia said. "Remember, Al?"

That was why the man was so damnably familiar. "I do now. But, wait - how do you know my brother?"

"That's a long story," Indy said. "We've got to get off the street. They're looking for him - and if they can recognize you as easily as I did, they'll be after you too."

"They already are after us," Alphonse said grimly. "They came after us in London. Men all in black, foreign robes."

Indy bobbed his head in a quick nod. "Sounds like League of Shadows all right." He inclined his head toward a far more populated area back on the plaza, and after a moment Alphonse and Sofia followed them.

"Do you know if my brother's safe?" Alphonse asked in a low voice as they walked.

"He was doin' just fine when I lost him, I think he bit the guy who was chasing us," Indy said.

Alphonse rolled his eyes heavenward. "That sounds just like brother." Then, the realization struck. "He got free?"

"Got free?" Indy repeated.

"The men who came after us in London," Sofia explained. "They said that they already had Ed."

Indy shook his head. "No, no one's captured him, he's been with me since we left Connecticut - and I lost him in the sewers going after the red-haired guy. Nicholai whatever."

Alphonse frowned, shooting a worried look at Sofia. "They lied. They wanted me to come after Edward, to get me out of London." Sofia's expression was just as grim as his. "I've fallen right into their trap."

"Not yet you haven't," Sofia reminded him softly.

"If only we had a way to figure out where their base is," Alphonse mused thoughtfully. "That's where Edward would head, the moment he got the location out of someone. We could meet up with him there, get him away and try to figure out what, exactly, is going on here."

"That's a great plan, but how do you suppose we find him?" Sofia asked Alphonse.

Indy stopped walking suddenly and snapped his fingers. He opened his satchel and pulled the papers he had liberated from the League of Shadows mook into daylight. "I don't suppose YOU can read Chinese?" He asked Alphonse, thrusting the papers toward him.

Alphonse looked at Indy, and then down at the papers, before taking them. "You think there's an address in here somewhere we can use?"

"There's got to be SOMETHING," Indy said. "I took them off of a League of Shadows thug who was more interested in Boucherie than your brother."

Sofia tugged on Alphonse's arm, spotting some Fascists down the street. "Let's stop at a cafe," she said. "And talk there. We won't be as conspicuous."

"Good idea," Alphonse said, tucking the papers into his jacket. He looked at Indy. "I don't suppose you know a decent place for lunch?"

~ * ~

The words just did not make any modicum of sense to Edward. He stared at Nicholai, and then back at Eiselstein. Nicholai could not be much more than a handful of years older than he was, there was no way that he was some fabled alchemist that sprang from bed-time stories. Even if such legends were real - the Philosopher's Stone could not exist in this world, it was completely impossible.

"You are so full of shit, Eiselstein," Edward said finally, turning his attention back on the German. "Did you really thing that I would believe a fairy tale like that? What sort of gullible-"

"He is telling the truth," Nicholai said quietly.

Edward looked back to Nicholai. "What?"

Eiselstein was gloating, hard. "After all that trouble tracking you down, Elric. All those fruitless leads and then of all the men in this world you have with you, the Immortal Sage himself! This truly is my lucky day."

Edward was having a hard time processing all of this. Flamel had been legend, even in Amestris - a master of arcana, of all aspects of alchemy - to the point where it seemed almost laughable that this awkward-looking stick of a man could be the same person. Edward's attention was drawn again to Eiselstein as the man gestured with his revolver. "I must thank you, Professor, for you have saved me quite a bit of time. But with Flamel here, I'm afraid that I don't need you." He pointed the revolver directly at Edward. "Goodbye."

His movement was instinctive. Edward put his right hand up as Eiselstein squeezed the trigger on the revolver. It was by sheer luck that he moved fast enough - there was a loud noise as the bullet struck the underside of Edward's right arm, ricocheting and shattering a glass flask nearby. The three of them looked at the flask that had shattered due to the ricochet - and then Edward moved forward, quickly, eyes on the gun before Eiselstein could think about squeezing off another shot. "How-"

Edward closed his right hand on the gun and forced the muzzle down, reeling back his left hand for a heavy punch. However, someone caught his hand before he could punch Eiselstein. "No," Nicholai said. "Not until he tells us where my wife is."

Eiselstein tried yanking his revolver free from Edward's automail hand, which was not going to happen any time soon. Instead he released it and darted back. "Bring me a Stone and we'll have a trade," he said to the red-haired man.

"I already told you that's impossible," Nicholai said, releasing Edward. Edward crushed the muzzle of the revolver in his automail hand and threw it on the floor, judging the distance between him and Eiselstein. "I can't make another Stone. Not without my wife."

Edward glared at Nicholai as Eiselstein smiled, largely. "Well, that's good to know," he said. "WACHEN!"

"Shit," Edward said, shoving Nicholai back as the sound of heavy boots started from somewhere behind Eiselstein. Nicholai pressed against Edward's left hand angrily. "No, no no now is NOT the time-" Edward said, grabbing Nicholai's arm and pulling him along.

"Not without my wife!"

"She's not here and I am not letting you go with him," Edward said. "You are not putting a Philosopher's Stone in the hand of the Nazis-"

Several men started to pour through the doorway behind where Eiselstein was standing. Edward shoved Nicholai back and this time, thankfully, he went. A bullet whizzed by his ear and Edward ducked reflexively as Eiselstein shouted "I need Flamel alive, kill the other one!"

Edward kicked out the leg of the table with all the glassware as they ran past, and all the beakers and flasks slid to the floor and shattered. Several of the burners ignited what must have been flammable liquid and that very quickly spread along the spills to the table itself. Nicholai was not struggling to get away from Edward, but he certainly was not helping their escape, staring still at Eiselstein through the growing flames. "Come on, come on," Edward grunted, kicking through to the door they came in from -

- and running smack into someone taller than he was.

Edward released Nicholai's sleeve and wound up to punch with his automail, not wanting to waste any time when that same someone grabbed his right arm with their left and nearly shouted in his ear. "BROTHER!"

He let his arm go slack as he gaped up at Alphonse. His younger brother was certainly the last person he expected to see here, of all places! "AL!?"

It WAS Alphonse - in a suit jacket and tie, wearing a short-brimmed fedora and looking somewhere between cross and relieved. Edward's mouth worked a second, this day was just getting more and more bizarre - when a few more gunshots echoed past and one hit the cement wall beside Edward.

Indy was a few steps behind Alphonse. He leveled his revolver, aiming over Edward's shoulder and squeezed off several shots into the smoke behind them. "Hate to interrupt, but can we save the touching reunion for a time when there aren't people SHOOTING at us?"

Edward grabbed Nicholai by the front of his jacket and shoved him at Alphonse. "Man's got a point!" he yelled. "Go!"

They ran out of the narrow delivery entrance, smoke and gunshots trailing after them. Indy brought up the rear, emptying his gun at smoky, ambiguous targets. "Where are we going?" Edward said, as Alphonse skidded to a stop outside the building.

Abruptly, one of the many delivery trucks started up, horn honking repeatedly. Alphonse nodded at it. "We're going there."

"Who's driving the TRUCK?" Edward said, as they all ran toward the idling truck. Alphonse ran to the back of it, opening the swinging back doors and jumping in, followed quickly by Nicholai. Edward hauled himself after, and then leaned out the back of the truck. "You coming with us, Jones?"

By this point, several of the guards – in uniform but not a one of them wearing any sort of insignia, all of them yelling in German - had piled out the delivery entrance. Most were coughing, but some had covered their mouths and noses with cloth to block out the thick, black oily smoke that was now issuing from the entrance. Indy was running full speed toward them, yelling as he did so. "Go, go, start the truck!"

"The truck's already started," Edward yelled right back, hanging out the back of the truck. However, the delivery truck lurched forward and Indy leaped for the door, catching it and pulling himself on board.

"We've got everyone," Alphonse yelled, and the driver floored it, causing all four of them to stumble and fall against each other. The hinged doors slammed shut with the momentum, as the delivery truck took a corner hard enough to cause them to tumble against the side of the truck. Edward groaned as Indy's elbow landed in his gut, although Nicholai did break his fall. Alphonse had grabbed onto straps hanging from the roof of the truck. "You guys all right?"

"Fine, peachy keen," Edward groaned, putting his hand on Nicholai's shoulder to try to lever himself off of the man - and his hand came away covered in blood. "Nicholai!?"

There was no response.