Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mornings in Sheridan, Colorado could go either way for Ernest Pratt. It wasn't uncommon for him to wake with a raging hangover, often accompanied by a pretty young woman, both of which he had to hide from the town's ever-prying eyes to keep up Nicodemus Legend's reputation as a dry, chaste gentleman. Other mornings, however, he had the pleasure of waking up in better spirits. They were almost exclusively later mornings, when Ernest got to wake up on his own terms, the day after a certain scientist had kept him too busy to drink or find a companion for the night.

Ernest wished he could say this was one of his better mornings, but he would be lying. Of course, he wasn't as honest a man as his fictional counter-part, so he wasn't against lying to the residents of Sheridan, but not everyone would believe him. Janos and Ramos would see "hangover" written all over his face.

The ride up to the Bartok Laboratory didn't do much for his pounding head. He wasn't sure if Skeeter was trying to hit every hole and rock in the road, but it certainly seemed that way. As soon as the professor's barn was in sight, Ernest had Skeeter pull the carriage over, tossed some change indiscriminately at him so he wouldn't speak, and finished the journey on foot.

Ernest pushed through the door to the lab and entered, only to immediately regret it. The whirring, buzzing, and general racket of a dozen-or-so machines running in the background assaulted his ears, and he slumped into the nearest chair with a grumble. Ramos was nowhere to be seen and Janos's back was to him, attention fixated on the device he was tinkering with on his work bench. After a moment he could distinctly make out Janos mumbling under his breath, the foreign sounds of Hungarian making him strain just a little too hard to understand. A moment later his ears were struck with a pained slew of Spanish from deeper in the lab-- or was that Meshikan? Ernest was still trying to learn the difference.

When Janos responded in an equally surprised Hungarian shout, Ernest covered his ears dramatically. "Please! Gentlemen! It's hard enough to understand you when you speak English!"

Janos looked over his shoulder. "Oh! Ernest! I didn't know you had arrived! Hello!" he greeted enthusiastically.

"Oh, spare me the pleasantries, Janos," Ernest grumbled. "I think my brain is trying to explode."

"And you have no one to blame for that other than yourself, Ernest," he berated, brow furrowing slightly as he turned away from his work to look at him.

He just rolled his eyes slightly, sinking farther into the chair. Ramos appeared around the corner then, his hand sporting a freshly applied bandage. He offered Ernest a small nod in greeting, which was quite appreciated at the moment, and turned to Janos. "I'm sorry, Professor. My hand slipped while adjusting the sensors on the seismic recorder and I cut my hand. I didn't mean to startle you," he said.

"No need to apologize, Ramos," Janos responded, "I was just worried you were injured. I can finish the adjustments myself if-"

"No, I'm fine to keep working, it's just a small cut," he assured.

"And he should know!" Ernest added, a sarcastic lilt to his voice, "He did study medicine at Harvard."

"Well, you certainly are in a foul mood this morning, aren't you?" Janos said, raising an eyebrow at the writer.

"I just want to know," he started in reply, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back, "why you decided to have Skeeter wake me up at this ungodly hour and take a 'quick jaunt' up to your lab."

"Ah, yes!" Janos said, his eyes lighting up and clapping his hands together, as if he had forgotten up until then. "This morning I received the most vonderful news! A company out of Denver is considering me for a grant. They are interested in one of my latest breakthroughs in electric-powered carriages-"

"I thought you can't get the batteries down to a reasonable size," Ernest mumbled, slightly surprising himself that he remembered.

"That is true, but Ramos and I have made some progress in that area and the investors are interested in seeing vhere it goes," he explained, a hint of excitement still in his voice. Ernest couldn't help but note that Janos probably couldn't hide his emotions if his life depended on it.

With a short sigh, Ernest finally looked up. "The last time someone offered you a grant your investor tried to murder us," he reminded.

"Oh, Ernest, what is the likelihood of that happening again?" Janos scoffed. "I'm sure that the next time someone tries to kill us, it will be in a completely unrelated way!"

"Comforting, Janos. Comforting."

"Of course, this means we will be unable to accompany you to Emporia," Janos said. "We must work to have our research completed within two weeks time."

Ernest's scowl deepened. "Oh, wonderful. I get to travel to Kansas all by myself," he said.

"Will you miss our company, Mr. Pratt?" Ramos asked with a visible smirk.

Ernest straightened up at that, looking caught off-guard. "No, I mean, I just prefer not to travel on my own in Kansas," he said in the practiced voice he usually reserved for the folks who assumed him to be Nicodemus Legend. "You know how people in Kansas can be," he said, gesturing vaguely before perking up a bit and adding, "Besides! I can always bring a different companion. Why, last night I was just discussing with my lovely friend, Henrietta-"

"I don't think that would be a wise decision, Nicodemus," Janos interrupted him pointedly. Ernest scowled again.

"Oh, yes, that's right," he rasped, "wouldn't want anyone getting the idea good ol' Mr. Legend was traveling inappropriately with the fairer sex."

"I'm sorry we can not go with you, Ernest," Janos said. "I was looking forward to meeting this Professor Ridley friend of yours."

Ernest shrugged. "He's not so much a 'friend' as he is an 'advisor'. He's an irritating fellow at times, but unfortunately he speaks all of the languages that I don't and Legend does."

There was a glimmer of hope behind Janos's eyes. "Do you know whether or not he speaks Hungarian?" he asked. The tiny bubble of excitement made Ernest feel a bit bad for his friend. Janos clearly enjoyed speaking in his native language, though the few in the area who understood it were the local dirt farmers that all-but refused to speak the language since they came to America.

"I'm not sure," Ernest admitted, rubbing at his temples. "Hungarian isn't one of the languages Legend knows."

Janos frowned slightly, disappointed. "Perhaps he should learn."

"Perhaps," Ernest agreed with a nod. "And I wouldn't have to travel to Kansas to talk to an expert!"

Having brought the grin back to Janos's face, Ernest made a mental note to consider a book where that might actually be useful. "Why don't you just communicate with Professor Ridley through the mail if you'd rather not travel to see him?" Ramos asked.

"Frankly, he takes much to long to respond to any form of communication, beside face-to-face," Ernest responded. "I don't have the time before my next book is due. I'm just lucky he received a position in Emporia's university. Otherwise he'd still be back east."

"So you'll be leaving today?" Janos asked.

Ernest nodded slowly. "The coach to Denver leaves precisely at noon," he said, then wrinkled his nose. "Haven't been in one of those for a while. When will those repairs to the Legend Balloon be finished?" Earlier in the week, they had been about to take off in the balloon after a small group of bandits, only to find several key components had been sabotaged by them ahead of time. They were no more than another bunch out-of-work miners trying to make a name for themselves by besting Nicodemus Legend, and Janos and Ernest managed to catch them using the land rovers, but the damage had been done.

"It will be a bit longer, what with Ramos and I busy with the grant research," Janos explained. "Perhaps a week."

"So no chance of you, swooping in to pick me up so I don't have to travel home on the train?" Ernest questioned hopefully.

"Not likely," Janos said, a bit bluntly.

Ernest just let out a disappointed huff in reply. "Well, this has been fun, but I've got to get back to my room and pack for my little excursion," he said, standing and letting out a moan at the effort.

"I'll give you a ride back to town, Ernest," Janos said, "It's the least I can do."

His first instinct was a snide reply of, It certainly is, Janos. But he held his tongue, instead requesting, "If you could just keep the ride as smooth as possible, I'd appreciate it."

Janos reached out and gave his arm a squeeze. "Of course."

Chapter Text

"Professor! Professor Bartok!"

Janos rolled his eyes slightly as the familiar voice met his ears, tearing away his concentration. He put down the pad on which he was doing his calculations and walked towards the front of his lab. "Yes, Skeeter, what is it?" he questioned.

"Sheriff Motes sent me up," he started, ruffling static out of his hair when one of Janos's inventions sparked nearby. "Said he got a wire from Denver, a couple of those troublemakers that wrecked your balloon escaped from custody."

"Unless they return to Sheridan, there is very little Ramos and I can do vhile Mr. Pratt is out of town," Janos responded simply, eager to return to his work.

"Well, the sheriff wanted to try and let you and Mr. Legend know just in case," Skeeter said.

"That'll be nearly impossible, Ernest is likely already on the train to Emporia by this time. Now Skeeter, I really must return to my work." He turned away from the boy at that, too distracted by the prospects of a looming scientific discovery to care much about how dismissive he was being.

"Sure, I'll get out of your hair," he said, moving after the scientist and cutting in front of him. "Just as soon as I, y'know, get some reimbursement for the time I took to get up here. Time's money, after all." He stuck out his hand.

"Ask Sheriff Motes, he is the one who sent you up here," Janos said indignantly, "not me."

"Sheriff Motes doesn't have scientific stuff to do," Skeeter pointed out with a smirk.

Janos narrowed his eyes. "Incorrigible," he grumbled, digging around in his pocket and depositing a coin in Skeeters palm.

"Pleasure doin' business with ya, Professor."

The train was only marginally better than the coach. Not as bumpy, but still loud enough to make his head pound.

Ernest had lost track of how long he'd been traveling; every minute felt like an eternity with this blasted hangover. The only thing that could make this worse was the name 'Nicodemus Legend' shouted from across the train.

"Nicodemus Legend!" a voice shouted across the train car.

Ernest blinked, resisting the urge to smash his head against something. He made the decision to ignore the sound, not even looking it.

"I want to talk to you, Mr. Legend!" the voice demanded.

"I believe you have me mistaken with someone else, sir," Ernest replied shortly, not even looking up. "My name is Pratt."

Footsteps moved towards him and his shoulder was grabbed violently, yanking him around to look at the man speaking to him. A crooked, wicked grin and the barrel of a gun greeted him. "You humiliated my boys and I back in Sheridan, Mr. Legend," the man said, casting a glance over his shoulder to the two dirty, familiar criminals standing behind him.

"Believe me, boys, breaking the professor's balloon was the best revenge you could've gotten on me," Ernest assured snidely. "Nothing else is necessary."

The man's gun dug painfully into Ernest's side as he hefted him to his feet. "I don't know, what do you boys think?" he asked, looking over to the two men behind him.

The younger of the two smirked. "I'd say throwing him out of the train might make me feel better," he said.

"Now, Mr. Legend, my nephew says throwing you out of the train will make 'im feel better!" the man with the gun said. "And I promised his mama I'd make sure to keep him happy for her no matter the cost."

"A noble sacrifice," Ernest said, voice dripping venomous sarcasm.

"It's just too bad there will be no witnesses," he said, glancing around the empty train car. Ernest somewhat regretted his decision to take advantage of his celebrity to request a private car. "I imagine the men who best Nicodemus Legend will go down in history."

"I imagine you'll go down the end of a rope," Ernest mumbled. He shouted angrily when the man practically yanked him off his feet, pulling him towards the back of the car.

He had thought his hangover had been bad, but this? The pounding in his head now was so, so much worse. Unable-to-make-a-coherent-thought worse. This put the concussion he got in San Fransisco to shame. Between his head and the terrible pain in his side and arm and leg-- he pretty much hurt everywhere-- he could barely believe he could stay standing, let alone stumble along the train tracks.

But it was better than laying down and dying, right?

He wiped blood from his eyes, grimacing.

No, not really.

Still, Ernest was too stubborn to let those idiots get the best of him. This was not how Nicodemus Legend was going to die. Not that he was Nicodemus Legend, but he created the character, so only he could decide how he was going to die. He would give no one else the satisfaction. So, he somehow managed to keep going. Slowly, agonizing, mostly blindly.

He assumed the little station in front of him was a hallucination when he could finally move no more, crumbling to the ground.

"Ramos, I don't think this vas necessary."

Janos's hands fidgeted restlessly with his hastily-knotted necktie as he walked down the streets of Sheridan, his scientific associate in step with him. He stopped in his tracks. "There is much work to do back-"

Ramos put up a hand to stop him, turning to face the taller man. "Professor, you haven't been out of the laboratory since Mr. Pratt left for Emporia," he said. "That was two days ago. And you haven't eaten in well over twenty-four hours."

"I am fine, Ramos!" he assured. "Ve just have a large amount of research to complete, and I-"

Ramos silenced him once again with a look. "I'm aware, Professor. But I know you, and you'll get lost in your work if you don't get your mind off it for a little while. And you can't get anything done if you wind up working yourself unconscious," he said.

Janos frowned. "But, Ramos-"

"Jani," Ramos implored, "please. Two hours in town isn't going to kill you."

Janos sighed in resignation, retiring his busy hands to the pockets of his jacket. "I suppose you are right. Very well. But just long enough for a meal."

Ramos smiled, in somewhere between relief and triumph, before moving on again.

"Professor Bartok!"

Both scientists stopped once more at the familiar voice, and Ramos could practically hear Janos's eye roll. Skeeter ran up to them, huffing slightly from the exertion. "I was just about to head up to your lab to talk to you."

"What is it, Skeeter?" Janos asked tightly.

"Their just came a telegraph over the wire for Mr. Legend," he replied, looking concerned.

Janos looked at him in confusion. "Then have them hold it until he returns from Kansas," he said simply.

Skeeter shook his head. "No, you see," he started, "he's not in Emporia."

Ramos's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean? How do you know?"

"Just come on, it'll make sense when you read the telegraph," he said hurriedly, waving them after him and starting off. Janos sighed and shared a look with Ramos, who just shrugged and followed the young man.

In the telegraph office, Janos took the message from the operator, reading it aloud for everyone to hear, "'I'm unsure whether this was some joke intended to make me waste my time, or something came up and you couldn't be bothered to inform me, but you not showing up without explanation is not appreciated, Ernest. Good luck with the translations for your books.' Sighed, 'Gabriel Ridley'." The worry on his face increased with each word.

"He didn't show up in Emporia?" Ramos asked in surprise. "But it's been two days. He should be back by now if he decided not to go."

"I sincerely hope this is a part of Ernest's usual antics," Janos admitted shakily, eyes skimming over the message again. "Or else I fear something may have befallen him."

"Perhaps I should head up to Denver," Ramos suggested. "I will see if he got sidetracked there, or if anybody know anything."

"I'll go as vell," Janos said with a nod. "I von't be able to continue our work until this is resolved. If something happened to Ernest..." He shook his head. "Someone should have gone vith him."

Ramos put a hand on the inventor's arm. "It's not your fault, Professor. I'm sure Mr. Pratt is fine." Janos didn't respond, just nodded slightly. Ramos urged him back outside. "Let's go now, we can probably reach Denver by noon."

Chapter Text

The news came the next morning. Though they told themselves the likelihood that the escaped criminal's boasts of killing Nicodemus Legend being true were slim, Janos's hands still trembled as he read the telegraph from Gabriel Ridley. There were no witnesses to Ernest being thrown from the train-- there wasn't even any clear answer as to whether he was on the train when it left Denver. The railway was going to conduct a search for the body, if there was one, but there was no saying how long that could take along the more than five hundred miles between Denver and Topeka.

Both scientists despaired at the thought their friend was missing, and conducting their own search was impossible without the use of their balloon. They abandoned their grant research immediately, throwing themselves into repairing the damaged balloon.

If Ernest Pratt was out there, they were going to find him. Alive or... otherwise.

Bright sunlight penetrated his eyelids, causing an aggressive pounding in the back of his skull. He shifted under the sheets laid over him but instantly regretted it, swearing colorfully at the pain that flared up in his side. Grinding his teeth, he slowly opened his eyes, squinting around at his surroundings. His arm was in a sling, with boards setting it and wrapped in gauze. He could feel bandages wrapped around his foot and leg, as well as a patch over a wound on his head. He tried sitting up again, like an idiot, only to shout again and fall back into the mattress.

His actions at least seemed to draw some attention because someone choose that moment to enter the room. He forced himself to concentrate on the figure, quick to realize it was a woman, and fixated a suspicious glare on her.

"Where am I?" he demanded, voice sounding almost like he's been gargling sand and he broke off into a cough.

"Shh, don't talk, sir," the woman urged, stopping at his side. A pitcher and glass sat on a stand next to the bed, and she poured some water. "You're severely dehydrated. The doctor has had quite a struggle just getting enough fluids into you to keep you going these last three days. First order of business now that you're awake is to get you to drink."

He took the glass of water carefully with his uninjured arm and she helped him sit up just a bit. Taking a small sip, he swished it around his dry mouth and swallowed. "Uh, three days?" he asked, though his voice was little better.

"You've been unconscious for almost three days now," she explained. "Doctor Seffield said you took quite a hit to the back of your head. He wasn't even sure you'd wake up at all."

"Where am I, Miss..."

"Oh, of course, how rude of me," she said. "I'm Cassandra Sharon, your nurse. You're in Eagle Tail Station, Kansas."

"Kansas, eh?" he responded offhandedly, taking another small sip and wincing. "I suppose you don't have anything stronger than this, to take the edge off?" he asked, only half joking.

She tilted her head at him, as if she couldn't quite tell if he was being serious. "I suppose I could ask the doctor to give you a small dose of laudanum when he gets back," she offered. "But I don't know how safe that would be, with your head injury."

He looked at her for a long moment and they were both silent. She was quite pretty, all long blond hair and blue eyes that matched the faded blue of her dress.

"I must ask," she started, "are you really..." she trailed off, gesturing slightly.

He stared at her blankly. "Am I really 'who'?" he asked.

"...Nicodemus Legend," she finally said.

"Um..." he began, looking quite perplexed. "Ah, I, I don't know."

Cassandra blinked at him. "What do you mean?"

He put the glass down on the stand beside him and rubbed at his temples. "I don't seem to be able to recall... much of anything."

"You don't remember who you are?" she asked. He just shook his head so she added, "Do you remember how you got hurt?"

He thought for a moment before replying. "I remember, being on a train?" he said, though it came out more like a question.

"Anything else?" Cassandra prompted.

"Ah-" He rubbed his head with the back of his hand. "No, not really. Who... Who's Nicodemus Legend?"

She smiled slightly. "I'll show you." She got up and left the room momentarily, returning with a thin dime novel in hand.

She handed him the book and he squinted at the cover. "'The Mystery of the Feathercreek Murder'?" he read the title out loud curiously, looking back up at her.

Her smile took on a slightly sheepish quality. "Um, yes, it's my favorite," she said, motioning for him to flip over the book. He looked carefully at the detailed drawing there of Nicodemus Legend. "It does look, quite a bit like you. Jeremiah Combs- he's kind of the unofficial mayor around here- he says he saw you at an event in Denver and he's sure you're him."

He furrowed his brow at the picture. "Well, I certainly can't say I'm not him," he commented. "And I'm not a man to argue with a mayor!-- I think."

Cassandra chuckled. "Well then, Mr. Legend, I should probably leave you to rest. The doctor should be back in a few hours, I'll let him know you've woken up."

"Oh, but can I be assured that I'll see you again, Miss Sharon?" he asked, a distinct lilt in his voice and a smirk on his face.

She rolled her eyes. "It's Cas, just Cas," she corrected. He mumbled an 'of course' and she returned his smirk. "We'll see, Mr. Legend. Get some rest."

"Nicodemus... Mr. Legend?"

As his eyes opened slowly, he couldn't help but wonder if Legend really was his name. It didn't quite sound like a name to his ears, but he couldn't remember another name no matter how hard he tried. Not a single other name came to mind-- not even a name of a friend, a relative, a parent. He knew he must have a mother and father, he must've come from somewhere, but there wasn't a single memory. Just a few vague feelings of love and warmth, and just an inkling of home. Not that he had any idea where home was. But he suspected he had one.

"Ah, Mr. Legend, I'm glad you're awake!"

He turned his head to look at the source of the voice that had woken him up. He found it to be a tall, dark skinned gentleman with a bushy black mustache over his lip. There was a tray in his hands that he set down on the stand beside the bed.

"I'm Elwood Seffield," the man introduced before 'Legend' could speak. "Your doctor. You were in too bad of shape when we found you for us to move you to Goodland, so I've been treating you here in Eagle Tail."

He waved Seffield off with his good arm. "No need to explain, Doctor," he said.

"Cas already informed me that you seem to be suffering some acute amnesia," Seffield said. "I imagine it's a result of the trauma to your head, though your severe dehydration may have contributed to it."

"Do you think I'll get my memory back, Doc?" he asked as Seffield handed him a glass of water off the tray.

"Probably. There isn't much known yet about such things but in most cases I've read about, patients are able to eventually retrieve some or most memories," Seffield explained.

"Hm, comforting," he mumbled, looking into his water with a frown before taking a long drink.

"Now you're going to have to eat, Mr. Legend," the doctor said. "I brought you some soup, we've got to build your strength if you're going to get healed up."

Seffield helped him to sit up, placing the tray on his lap, a bowl of warm soup on top of it. He took the spoon carefully in his hand and started sipping on the soup. "So, Doc, what exactly is the extent of the damage?" he asked, trying to flex his hand.

"I think you broke at least one rib, probably two," Seffield explained. "You broke your forearm, and have several lacerations on your upper arm and shoulder. You also sliced up your foot and leg something terrible."

"Well, other than the fact I can't remember anything," he started, "I guess it could have been worse. I fell out of a train, right?"

"You tell me, Mr. Legend," Seffield said. "Though, knowing what I do of your reputation, that's not impossible to believe."

His brow furrowed as he sipped at his soup. "Exactly how famous am I?" he asked, maybe just a bit irate.

"Well, I must admit, I've never read your books myself," Seffield said. "I'm not one for dime novels, no offense."

"None taken, I don't even remember writing them," he assured with a single-shoulder shrug.

"There are quite a few fans of yours here in Eagle Tail, though," Seffield offered. "News of your exploits always gets Nurse Sharon excited for your next book."

He smirked. "Does it now?" he said silkily. Seffield raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing, and he cleared his throat. "I suppose there are worse places I could have my recovery."

Seffield smiled. "It'll be a few days before you're ready to be on your feet. But perhaps you could read you own books in the mean time. I'm sure that will give you some idea of your life until you can remember for yourself."

He widened his eyes at the prospect, offering an unsure nod. "Maybe it will... bring something back," he mused.