The Waterstone of the Wise [5]

[scriveyner]

.:Chapter Five:.

Florence

Wilhem von Eiselstein's face was nearly pink with rage as he railed at his guards in rapid-fire German. "Idioten! Dummköpfe! Nutzlos unbeholfene Tölpel!" The guards stood impassively at attention, their faces not betraying a single emotion. Their self-restraint was impressive, Ling Yao observed silently from the shadows of the large overhanging room.

The alchemists had disappeared from the city of Florence in, of all things, a parcel delivery truck. The other delivery trucks along the street had met with a series of unfortunate occurrences - mostly vandalism, although a few were missing starters and spark plugs. Something devilishly simple to fix, but it afforded their prey plenty of time to vanish into the city teeming with people.

The men reflexively saluted as Eiselstein completed his rant against them, before turning to leave the room. There was not much time, the entire operation needed to be packed up, as they were moving base from Florence back to the isolated castle that Eiselstein called home deep in Austria. Ling watched them all file past silently, before standing, hands in the pockets of his European-style coat.

Eiselstein had turned his back to the room, staring out into the late afternoon sky, still fuming to himself. "I nearly had him," Eiselstein spat. "I could have had them both!"

Ling stopped before the large desk that dominated the room, his hands still in his pockets as he watched Eiselstein. "And now they're gone, along with my chance to create the Stone entirely from scratch!"

"I was under the impression that the exact recipe was encoded in your notes," Ling said finally. "Is that not the case?"

Eiselstein glanced over his shoulder at Ling, his eyes narrowed. "Of course I have the proper recipe, the words are as plain as day to any alchemist worth his salt. The problem is that the recipe calls for several years of preparation, and that is time that we do not have to waste. If Flamel and his wife can cook one faster than that then the Fuhrer will have his magical, immortality-granting Stone in no time at all and I can be left in peace with my family."

"I have no interest in your Fuhrer," Ling said. "As you well know."

Eiselstein glared out the window again, resigned into silence. It had been a part of their agreement, after all - the Philosopher's Stone held the secret to immortality … an immortality that the League of Shadows wanted just as dearly as the Fuhrer. The shadowy organization had no ties to any one government - they did exactly as they damn well pleased, and Eiselstein knew it. He also knew that he had to continue to appease their representative - Ling Yao - for as long as he could in order to maintain their cooperation. "They were here, Chinaman. Here, within my grasp."

"And they will yet be in your grasp again, if only you could learn some patience," Ling murmured. Eiselstein glanced back at Ling, and then half-turned from the window, his profile cast into sharp relief by the afternoon light.

Ling looked a mess, he knew - he had cleaned up from traipsing around the sewers but his eye was swollen nearly closed, a cut above the wound bandaged to prevent further blood loss. However his open eye was clear and bright. Edward Elric had left him alive - a mistake he would be certain to regret. "Both of my men were carrying copies of your itinerary, Eiselstein. With any luck at all that itinerary has fallen into the grasp of our wayward alchemists. Professor Elric seems to have a sworn sense of duty - or at least, he appears to be very interested in stopping you, so I am certain that if that itinerary has fallen into their hands we will see them again shortly, on the train through to Germany."

Eiselstein turned to the window, a thoughtful expression now present on his features. "You're sure of that?"

"As sure as I can be - I know for a fact that Professor Elric's brother can read Chinese. They will be coming to us again, only this time you shall have far more of a warning."

"Good." Eiselstein sat down at his desk, some of his natural coloring return. "I shall tolerate no more failures."

Ling's one good eye narrowed into a paroxysm of a smile, but his tone was entirely lethal. "Neither will I."

~ * ~

The delivery truck was parked off the side of the road, by a bustling shop. It looked completely like it belong there, so no one paid any attention to the fact that there had been no actual deliveries all afternoon. Earlier several military vehicles has passed, their alert sirens going.

"He's still breathing," Alphonse confirmed, two fingers pressed to the pulse under Nicholas's jaw. Sofia knelt on the floor with his head in her lap, sweat beading on his forehead. She brushed the dark red bangs away from his forehead and stared with concern at her husband. "For now," Alphonse added darkly.

The hastily constructed bandages had already been bled through once. Edward sat cross-legged on the floor, his once-white gloves stained a deep crimson color by the other man's blood. Alphonse looked at his brother, a frown on his face. "We have to get him to a hospital, brother."

"I know," Edward murmured, his hands propped on his knees, ignoring the stains that it was leaving on his clothing. He was staring at Nicholas silently, willing him to wake up but knowing that he would be lucky if he did not die in the next few hours. There was no time for this, they needed every hand on deck to be able to take down Eiselstein and suddenly Nicholai Boucherie - Nicholas Flamel - their most valuable resource, was down for the count. Perhaps permanently.

"Al's right," Indy said. He was sitting with his back against the wall, arms propped on his knees. "We need to dump him at a hospital and get on with it. We can't afford to waste time on him."

"I know," Edward bit out, fingers curling in the fabric of his trousers. They could not just abandon Nicholas to the tender mercies of the Italian government. There was no telling what would happen to him here. "We can't just leave him, though!"

"We're going to have to," Alphonse said gently.

Edward groaned, and lowered his head. Sofia wiped Nicholas's forehead again, humming a little to herself as she did so. Edward stared at his blood-stained gloves. "He's Nicholas Flamel," he said shortly.

Alphonse looked up at Edward, startled. "What?"

"He's Nicholas Flamel," Edward repeated, as if Alphonse had not heard the words clearly. "He's, he was going by Nicholai Boucherie in order to keep hidden, Eiselstein wants him more than us, now, because he's Nicholas-fucking-Flamel."

"There is no way," Alphonse said. "He'd have to be, nearly four hundred years old or something!"

"Like dad d?" Edward said humorlessly.

Alphonse's eyes narrowed sharply. "Brother."

"Actually," Nicholas's voice was weak. "More along the lines of six hundred years old." He coughed, and Sofia held his shoulders so he did not try to curl up and twist the bandages. "Six hundred and seven, this year."

"You mean to say that you're immortal?" Indy said, disbelief colored in his voice. Edward had straightened at Nicholas's voice, and looked to the man silently.

"Not immortal," Nicholas Flamel said, the sarcasm heavy in his voice. "Just rather long-lived."

"Try to lie still," Alphonse said, as Nicholas started to try to sit up. Sofia's hands on his shoulders kept him down. "You've been shot."

"Really?" Now the sarcasm was certainly out in full force. "I don't think I would have figured that out on my own, thank you." He looked to Edward, his eyes bleary. "This is your brother, then?"

"How did you know I have a brother?" Edward asked.

"He probably heard him call you brother," Indy muttered.

Nicholas's mouth quirked in amusement. "Because you both remind me very strongly of your father," he said, and then coughed. This time, blood trickled from his mouth and he spent a long moment gasping for air.

"Nicholas," Edward said worriedly.

He started to pat his own chest gently. "On the inside of my waistcoat," he said faintly. "Small black pouch."

Edward and Alphonse looked at each other, and then Alphonse reached to the pile of clothing they had cut off of Nicholas before binding the gunshot wound. Along the inside of the bloodstained waistcoat was a small bulge, a pouch sewn directly into the lining. Alphonse tore it open and a small black velvet drawstring pouch fell into his hand.

There was a wheeze on the edge of every breath Nicholas took. "Take one shard and crush it in a glass of water."

"Shard?" Alphonse repeated, opening the pouch. From out of the drawstring pouch three long, slender ruby shards the length of his finger tumbled into his palm. Alphonse almost dropped them. "They're warm!"

"Just one," Nicholas said. "Hurry." His voice was fading.

Indy had already opened the back of the delivery truck and vanished off, presumably to find a source of water. He returned shortly with a glass borrowed from a nearby cafe. Alphonse held out one shard to Edward who crushed it in his automail hand, and scooped the dust into the glass.

Nicholas had gone beyond the ability to speak, panting hoarsely as Sofia held his head up and Edward carefully poured the mixture into his mouth.

Nicholas closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Then, slowly, he lifted his hands and pressed the palms together, before pressing them both over the bandaged wound.

The light was instantaneous and molten red. It rippled over the bandages and up his arms, and Nicholas let a pained grunt through his clenched teeth, doubling up almost instantly. "What the HELL was THAT-" Indy said as Edward caught Nicholas's shoulder. Both of his hands were clenched still over the wound even as the red light sparked out.

"That," Alphonse said quietly, "was alchemy."

~ * ~

Nicholas sat up against the inside of the truck, his collared shirt open and the bandages left in a bloody puddle on the floor. The gunshot wound was gone as if it had never been, the only testament to its existence the dried blood that stained his skin. He was, however, still pale and sweating. Edward had abandoned the gloves into the pile of ruined clothing, and he sat beside Nicholas, watching him carefully.

"I don't understand it," Indy said. He was standing up, hat cocked askew on his head and arms crossed. "How is he fixed?"

"I'm more concerned with the fact that he has the Philosopher's Stone on him," Alphonse said, the black velvet pouch safely stowed in the pocket of his jacket. "Or what's left of it."

"It is all that remains of the Stone we created nearly six hundred years ago." Nicholas's voice was still weak with pain. "We only made one Stone. It has lasted us all this time."

"You've only made the Stone once?" Indy said. "How are you going to do it again?"

"I cannot," Nicholas said softly. "The means to create the Stone no longer exists in this world."

"You said you couldn't create one without your wife," Edward said sharply.

"I would say whatever I had to in order to ensure my wife's safety," Nicholas snapped at him. "Two shards, now, are all that remains of the great Philosopher's Stone. Do you really think that Eiselstein will leave my wife alive if he knew that there is no longer any way to create it?" He curled his hand over where the gunshot wound was and hissed in pain.

Edward looked up at Alphonse, and then back to Nicholas. "But there is. There is another way to create the Philosopher's Stone."

"What are you talking about?" Alphonse asked. He was sitting with his arm around Sofia, who had her head on his shoulder drowsily.

"Al," Edward said. "Eiselstein has dad's notes." At the furrowed brow Edward elaborated. "The ones that he never left behind. Those notes."

It was slightly comical, the way Alphonse's eyes widened at that. Sometimes Edward forgot that his brother had that gap in his memory, including meeting their father again in Resembool. "How did Eiselstein get that?"

"The Thule society probably took it off of him," Edward said grimly. "I don't even know what's in it - he never let me look at it. That's gotta be full of particularly bad and dark alchemy."

Nicholas exhaled. "We must rescue my wife and recover your father's notebook, then," he said decisively.

Indy crouched, staring at Edward and Nicholas in turn. "So he's fixed."

"Good as new," Nicholas confirmed, lifting his hand off of the vanished wound to prove it. "Mostly."

Indy shook his head in amazement. "The Philosopher's Stone," he muttered. "Won't Marcus get a kick out of this."

"Speaking of," Nicholas said, holding out his hand. "The shards, if you please."

Alphonse stared at Nicholas's outstretched hand, before shifting slightly. Sofia lifted her head and frowned at him, but Alphonse produced the black velvet drawstring bag from his coat pocket. There was the barest hitch of hesitation before he dropped the bag into Nicholas's hand.

Nicholas blinked, gaze still fixed on Alphonse. "Impressive," he said, hand curling around the bag and pulling it toward his chest. "Most people won't give up a shard once they have touched them. The allure and the power of it is too much for them."

Alphonse smiled wryly. "I know the source of the power," he said. "It doesn't interest me." Edward snorted in amusement, as Nicholas tucked the pouch into the pocket of his trousers.

"Now what?" Sofia asked. "If we're going to go after Nick's wife and this notebook, how are we going to find them?"

"The notebook probably travels with Eiselstein," Indy said. "It's going to be too valuable an asset to leave behind anywhere."

"My wife would likely be locked up at his castle," Nicholas said. "I can't see him purposefully traveling with her."

"No, that would not make any sense. Traveling with a prisoner would only be a means for the prisoner to escape easily," Indy agreed. "So it seems the best plan would be to head toward Eiselstein's castle. Good thing he's headed there as well."

Edward lifted his head and looked at Indy suspiciously. "How do YOU know that?"

"Because," Indy said, holding up a piece of paper. "We have his itinerary."