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kashiwrites(See Chapter 8)
He sat as though enthroned, on a bench along the wall across from the doorway, his long, greasy black hair tumbling down his shoulders and over the front of his light brown prison uniform, his wrists encased at either end of a double-thick stock of wood that had been both padlocked to a post embedded in the floor and attached to the ceiling by thick chains. A couple of lamps set into the wall on either side of the door ensured that he didn’t sit in darkness, but they were not bright, and his eyes were shadowed under his brows, the merest glitter seeming to spark there as he watched his visitors enter the room.
Major Vanova walked in and stopped a couple of feet away from the wooden post and the upraised hands. As Maes followed her, he saw a bed set out from the wall on the left, two more thick chains dangling above it from the ceiling. They, he presumed, would hold the chunks of wood just above Kimbley’s body as he slept, so there would be no chance of his managing to carve an array anywhere with one of his hands. Over to the right was a table with an empty food tray on it, a couple of chairs, and a pail with a lid. The cell was dry, but the odour of bodily effusions was just strong enough, overlain by the slight tang of cleanser, to suggest that while the room was occasionally cleaned, it wasn’t done quite often enough.
And thus did Zolf Kimbley apparently spend his time: sitting alone in this spartan cell, unable to read, unable to leave his bench until put to bed, unable to do touch anything, unable to do anything but think and remember. All he had to break the endless monotony and silence – and only recently at that – was that one hour when, still heavily chained and accompanied by several guards with their guns poised, he was allowed to stand in the open compound and finally see the sky for a brief few moments.
Despite everything, despite all he knew of the man’s murderous history and destructive talents, Maes couldn’t help the pang of horror and pity that went through him at the sight of Kimbley in this hidden, lonely room.
He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye and found that Roy had stationed himself farther to the right, near the table, obviously making sure he’d have a clear sight line, with enough space to roast the prisoner if he had to, without endangering the others. Roy had schooled his face into an expressionless mask, but his eyes met Kimbley’s, dark to dark, and if it were possible, his face grew even paler than it had been before.
“Zolf,” Vanova said quietly, drawing the other man’s gaze briefly toward her. “Lieutenant Colonel Hughes was hoping you could answer some questions. I hope you don’t mind that you have an extra visitor. I wasn’t aware until just before we came that Hughes wouldn’t be alone. If you have any objection, we can plan this discussion for another time.”
Kimbley smiled narrowly, eyes glittering as he raised his face to look at her. “Mind?” came his soft answer. “How could I possibly mind? I was anticipating a nice little chat with Maes Hughes, but suddenly you’ve brought me an even tastier treat. Roy Mustang himself.” He looked back at Roy and licked his lips, slowly, almost lasciviously. Except there was nothing sexual in it at all. It had more of an aura, Maes thought with a shudder, of cannibalism.
Roy said nothing, did nothing, his face utterly closed.
“What?” Kimbley spoke again. “Not even a hello for an old friend? What a shame. You used to have such good manners, too.”
And still Roy said nothing, maintaining his stoic silence. Maes knew that Roy knew that Kimbley would try to bait him at every opportunity. He hoped his friend could bear it, for as long as they had to be here. Might as well try to take the heat off, a little, though.
Maes cleared his throat, and was rewarded with the shifting of the prisoner’s eyes toward him. “Like the major said, I wanted to talk to you.”
“Of course you do,” Kimbley nodded knowingly. “You’ve got a really big problem, something all your investigators can’t solve, and I’m the only person who can shed some light on it.”
Maes raised his eyebrows. “Then you know what’s been happening?”
“Not at all. I never get news from outside, unless the good Major Vanova brings it to me. And she doesn’t tell me much, even then.” Kimbley smiled at his questioner’s surprise. “Mustang, look at that. Your favourite pet thinks I can read his mind.” He leaned forward a little, as much as the stocks would allow. "Well, Major Hughes – "
“Lieutenant Colonel,” Maes corrected automatically, as he always did, and then flushed when he realized he’d done so.
“Ah yes, as Major Vanova already said. You’ve been promoted. Congratulations. You see how behind I am on the news. The guards must have stolen all my letters. I’ll have to speak to them.” Kimbley’s eyes narrowed. “But I shouldn’t have teased you, should I, about reading your mind? Because I really can. I know exactly why you’re here.”
“Do you now?” Maes folded his arms across his chest, and saw Vanova’s eyes flicker at the protective gesture. Immediately he lowered them to his sides again. “Then why don’t you tell me, Kimbley?”
"Like I said. You’ve got a big problem that no one else can solve. And if you’re here, it must mean that you suspect me – which is very amusing, considering the circumstances." He flicked his hands in demonstration, and for the first time the arrays carved into his palms flashed briefly into sight, the curving lines a livid red against his skin. “Or else,” he added, “the problem is in my own area of expertise. And that would mean,” the satisfaction oozed from his voice, “that you’ve got someone blowing things up, and you want me to help you catch him.”
Maes stared at him for a long moment before replying. “I always knew you were pretty smart,” he smiled.
“Oh, I’m even smarter than that. I watched you as you came in. You were disappointed I was still here. You wanted me to be the culprit himself, didn’t you?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Maes saw Roy’s head turn, and for a moment they shared a look. Even Roy, it seemed, hadn’t guessed that.
“Yes, fine,” Maes retorted, turning back to Kimbley as he felt his cheeks getting warm with embarrassment, “it would definitely have made things a lot easier if it was really you we were looking for. But it doesn’t matter...”
“Because you think I’m going to help you instead? Now why, Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes, would I go and do a thing like that?” Kimbley wondered rhetorically.
Maes had devised an answer to this one last night. “Well,” he said conversationally, “I kind of thought you might be irritated that a rival was trying to better your own record. Especially when this guy is as destructive as you are, but has so much more finesse.”
He jumped when Kimbley burst out laughing, the sound harsh and loud in this confined space. “Oh Mustang,” the prisoner grinned over at the silent man watching from the side, “I see why you like him. He does manage to be surprising once in a while, doesn’t he? But no, Hughes, you must be thinking of someone else. Why would I be interested in ‘finesse’? That’s your flaming hero’s way of doing things, not mine. I couldn’t care less about ‘finesse’. I just like it when things go boom!” Kimbley’s gaze still hadn’t moved, watching Roy’s closed face with shrewd, narrowed eyes. “It must bother you, though, Mustang,” the man went on, voice lowering, taking on an intimate tone, “to know that one of the Ishbal alchemists is out there spoiling your climb to power.”
“’Ishbal alchemists’.” Maes pounced on that one immediately. This could be very important. “Who do you mean?” he demanded, unconsciously taking a step closer in his eagerness to pursue the question. “Did you know some alchemists in Ishbal? Do you know who could be setting these fires?”
“Of course we didn’t know any alchemists in Ishbal,” the man retorted. “They didn’t have any. Did you even pay attention to the Ishbalans while you were there, Hughes?”
“It was kind of hard,” Maes flung back, “when you guys were killing them all.”
“True enough,” Kimbley smiled. “Roy and I were killing them as fast as they rose up. Good times, right, Mustang? The good old days. But of course I’m not talking about Ishbalan alchemists. I’m talking about our own people. The stars of the show, the State Alchemists, the fraternity to which Mustang and I belong.” The man smiled again, like a shark, again watching Roy as he spoke. “We’re brothers, Roy Mustang and I. Twins, you might say. Very soulmates, in fact.”
Roy blurted, “We are nothing like – “ and then bit off the words as Kimbley smiled, having hit home at last.
“Then what you mean,” Maes put in, trying to draw the man’s attention back to himself, “is that you think it’s a State Alchemist going around setting buildings on fire?”
“Fire?” Kimbley’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s right...you did talk about ‘setting fires’, didn’t you?” The man’s eyes moved slowly from Maes and back to Roy. “Now isn’t that interesting...,” he murmured.
Major Vanova explained, “It seems that someone is planning an attack against Colonel Mustang, and they’re taunting him – taunting the whole military, I think – by imitating his alchemy and setting empty buildings on fire. And each building comes closer and closer to the colonel’s own home. Does that suggest the work of a State Alchemist to you, Zolf?”
Kimbley said nothing. He just stared at Roy, dark eyes glittering, the shark smile still lingering on his face. Maes watched uneasily as the two men gazed at each other, Roy unmoving, face cast in stone, his own eyes unnaturally bright, intense with some emotion Maes couldn’t fathom. Where was the usual suave smile, the façade of casual amusement with which Roy deflected notice or guided conversations? Why was he unable to muster his lazy smile here, and that drawling, dismissive banter?
For some reason, Maes began to watch Roy’s gloved hands, as though waiting for the fingers to snap. Was it a trick of the light, or did he truly detect a tremor in those hands?
Vanova, too, fell silent, looking from one to the other.
“What a thought,” Kimbley said silently, at last. “Justice finally rearing its inconvenient head, and descending on the hero of the Ishbal rebellion. You’ve been back, haven’t you, Roy? You’ve done an unthinkable thing, and gone back to the scene of the crime. You’ve gone back to Ishbal.”
“How did you – “ Again the involuntary eruption of words before Roy cut off the question. He took a long, slow, deep breath.
“You thought you could leave it behind, didn’t you? The great hero, atoning for his sins by returning home to do good. And climb the ladder of success at the same time. What a stunning hypocrite you are.”
“Now look here – “ Maes began, but Kimbley went on as though he hadn’t spoken.
“Between the two of us, my brother, my twin – I am the one who has always been honest.”
“So you think, then, Zolf,” Vanova returned again to the main question, “that our culprit is one of the State Alchemists who put down the Ishbal rebellion?”
Kimbley eyed her momentarily, before his eyes wandered back to Roy’s face. “Well, Mustang?” he said. “Is it one of the State Alchemists? Have we had any thoughts about that?” He waited as though expecting an answer, but again Roy just stood there.
The prisoner laughed softly, and a cold shiver went up Maes’s back. He knew Roy was trying not to respond to anything that was an obvious attempt to bait him, but Maes couldn’t understand why his friend was maintaining his silence so...stiffly. Was he afraid he might lose his temper and do the captive some harm? Why he wasn’t just laughing this off in his usual way was mystifying. Maes had seen him stand in the midst of genuine danger, surrounded by enemies ready to attack, and drawl his way through the situation without so much as a scratch or the ruffling of his hair. Yet here he was, clearly in no real danger, but seemingly unable to summon his normal casual equilibrium.
Although...Maes had to admit that if someone was staring at him the way Kimbley was eyeing Roy, dark eyes sharp as knives, that appeared capable of penetrating to his very soul…he might be a little unnerved, too.
But Kimbley didn’t seem to mind the silence. In fact, he appeared to have expected exactly that response. He smiled, his eyes roving up and down Roy’s body as though visually dissecting every taut nerve and rigid muscle. “Let’s see,” he speculated, his voice insinuating itself throughout the cell like a hissing mist. “Who could it be, do you suppose? Basque Gran – but no. He’s dead, isn’t he? Svenson? She committed suicide, poor deranged woman. So did Jordan.”
He was counting them off one by one, holding his left hand in a fist and raising a new finger for each alchemist he named. Up went a fourth finger. “Regis could have been your man, but he’s dead too. Isn’t that a coincidence? Got drunk one night and killed an entire tavern full of people before the police put him out of his misery. Marcoh?” The Crystal Alchemist was signified by the thumb, and now the angry red lines of the array in Kimbley’s palm were openly displayed, pointing directly at Roy. “Now, there’s an interesting question. Who knows where he is, after he went AWOL?” Kimbley’s voice lowered again, once more taking on the intimate tone, as though he and Roy were alone in the room. “You helped him escape, didn’t you, Mustang? Nobody else guessed, but I could see it on your face.”
He was almost whispering now, and Maes had to strain to hear. “Marcoh…your great hope for redemption. He thought you helped him out of the goodness of your heart, but we know better than that, Roy, you desperate, selfish bastard. If he could be forgiven his sins, then maybe you could too, wasn’t that what you were thinking? You let him escape right after you murdered those doctors, poor little Roy with blood smeared all over you. Just let the Crystal Alchemist become a good man, and do great in the world, and our Flame might be forgiven. But it doesn’t work that way, does it, my brother? I’ve been faithful to you all these years, showing you the real truth. If Marcoh’s still alive, then he’s still in hell with the rest of us. With you. There is no forgiveness for you, Flame, in all the wide world. You must have figured that out by now.”
Roy’s face had gone stark white, his eyes two dark holes under the spikes of his hair, opening into the blackness of an abyss. A sheen of sweat had broken out on his face, and he probably didn’t even know how he had taken a step back, now gripping the edge of the small table beside him with his right hand, as though to keep himself standing. The other hand, still hanging at his side, had clearly begun to tremble.
Maes’s heart pounded in his throat. He should go to him – break this spell the Crimson Alchemist had cast – but he was caught in it too, and couldn’t move. He could only watch his friend undergoing a terrible, subliminal attack, and was powerless to help. He, more than anyone, knew how effective this line of attack would be on Roy’s psyche.
Oh, Roy. He wanted to break out wailing.
Vanova, too, had fallen utterly silent. Maes couldn’t tell if she was caught in the same dark enchantment, or if she was merely clinically studying Kimbley’s methods and assessing Roy’s reactions.
Kimbley, meanwhile, went on as though he were merely chatting about mutual friends. “I know,” he mused. “Maybe it’s our strange associate, Alex Louis Armstrong. Oh, but burning down buildings would make him cry. I’m afraid I’m of no help, being out of touch as I am. Do you know of any others who are still alive? Or are any of us really alive?”
It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but at last Maes managed to speak, his voice hoarse despite his attempts to speak as normally as possible. He interjected, “We’ll – we’ll make a list. That’s what we’ll do, right, Roy?”
Roy’s eyes moved to his face, slowly, as though fighting against a compulsion. It was all he could do, though. He made no answer. He looked as though he might never be capable of speech again.
Maes cleared his throat and straightened his glasses, desperate to regain the sensation of normalcy. “Yes. We’ll find out who all the State Alchemists were, who went to – to Ishbal. I know where those records are. And we’ll find out who remains from that group. At least it gives us something to go on.”
“Then I’ve been helpful after all. Imagine that. Just remember the most important thing, little pet.” Kimbley turned his mocking smile to Maes, who couldn’t prevent the stab of fresh terror, or the rush of cold sweat down his back. “Every last one of us,” the prisoner told him softly,”every State Alchemist who went to Ishbal – the few of us who haven’t died – is much more than half insane. Every single one of us,” Kimbley’s eyes narrowed yet again on Roy’s face, “except, it seems, our beloved and heroic Flame Alchemist. My dear Mustang – what a fortunate man you appear to be.”
“Well then,” Vanova finally spoke, almost cheerfully, as though she hadn’t even noticed the tension that had built up between Kimbley and Roy. “I think you’ve been very helpful, Zolf, even if you weren’t really trying to be.” She smiled at him with – Maes could hardly believe it – almost a twinkle in her eye.
Kimbley laughed. “Why, of course I helped you, Major. You know what a helpful person I am. And I promise – when I get out of here, I’ll leave you to last.” He twiddled his fingers at her, favouring her with a narrow-eyed smile.
“Of course you will,” she answered, eyebrows raised mockingly. “All right. We’ll leave, so the guards can come in with your meal. Thank you for speaking with us. Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, go ahead. Colonel Mustang? Come along now.” Brisk and businesslike, she turned and walked out of the cell.
Maes moved to follow, and found he couldn’t quite bring himself to turn his back on the man in the stocks. So he had to inch sidelong, flushing as the prisoner’s humiliating laughter followed him out. He saw Roy turn his back on his former companion, stiffly motioning the guards inside the room to precede him out. He stepped to the threshold of the cell.
“Mustang!”
The voice inside the room stopped him instantly. He paused in the very doorway, head bowed, a hand leaning on the huge vault door.
“What?” It was almost a whisper.
“Have the night shadows overwhelmed you yet?”
Roy didn’t move, yet Maes, who knew him so well, got the impression that the earth had heaved under his feet. He said nothing, made no reaction, eyes invisible under the fall of his fine black hair. At last he took a long, shuddering breath.
And then he half-turned to look back at the man seated on the bench on the far wall. “Zolf,” he said softly.
“What is it?”
“Is there...anything you need?”
For a long time, there was no answer. Maes suddenly wished his friend was not blocking his view of the prisoner. And he wished he could see Roy’s face.
At last the quiet answer came. “I need the same thing you do, Roy. And it will never come, for either of us.”
Roy regarded the Crimson Alchemist for a moment longer in silence. Then he murmured, “Goodbye, Zolf,” and turned to come out of the cell.
Vanova had already started back down the long, grey hallway, as guards waited outside with a covered food tray. Maes waited for Roy to join him, and finally started after the major, his friend falling into step with him.
He waited a moment, in case Roy would say something...but of course he wouldn’t. As always, he was going to lock away all the memories, all the emotions, and it would be like pulling teeth to get anything out of him.
But as always, Maes had to try. “Roy,” he murmured, “that was pretty grueling. Are you...all right?”
“Why should it be grueling?” Roy answered softly. “He said nothing in there that wasn’t true. We both know that.”
“Now come on, you know his interpretation of things isn’t – “
“Maes. Please don’t.” Again the averted face, and the fall of hair that obscured the eyes that Maes really, really wanted to see right now. “I just...can’t. Not right now.”
Maes sighed. “I understand. But we’re going to talk, Roy, eventually.” He frowned unhappily and sighed. “I had no idea it would be...like this. I should have called the military police and chained you to your desk, and never let you come with us. I should have known better. I wish I had never let – "
“Maes.” A hand on his shoulder as they walked, squeezing very slightly. “Don’t start that. I’ll be fine.” At last Roy raised his head and managed the faintest smile. “You know I’d never have lasted this long without you. So just...don’t talk like that.”
He dropped the hand and looked forward, to where Major Vanova had reached the door at the far end of the hall. Maes sped up in step with him, eager to escape this place, and the terrifying, mad, pathetic man they had left behind.
But there was no way to escape what he’d seen in that quick glimpse of Roy’s face, despite the smile his friend had mustered: the deep, deep pain that had almost drowned him in the days just after Ishbal, the pain Maes had hoped never to see in him again.
He let Roy go through the final door ahead of him, and muttered to himself, “I should have pulled my gun and blown that bastard’s brains out before he said a single word.”
(See Chapter 10)
