October 17th, 1891
Daniel's waking breath drew the taste of a gag and the burn of chloroform in the back of his throat.
He coughed against the assault of these sensations with a dry tongue squeezed against his palate by rough, damp cotton. He opened his eyes to the darkness of more cloth that pressed like an urgent lover to his eyelids. He shifted in his seat, independent of the jostling that shook his body already, but his ankles and wrists were crossed and cradled with scratchy rope that burned red-hot into his skin.
Daniel strained to hear anything apart from the rattling of the carriage. From the relative quiet, he could assume they were in the countryside and not the city, where he had been before. The past six months had been anything but easy for him in London. After the Byrnes had been taken down by the Phantomhive brat, he had gone into hiding within the city to avoid being rounded up like the rest of their previous dealers and frauds. It didn't help that he had been the one to actually hand the Queen's Watchdog the cigarette laced with nitroglycerine meant to kill him. He still wondered how in the world he had survived the blast after Daniel had left the scene and fled.
It was no matter now, though, because it seemed as though everything had caught up with him.
The possibility of the Phantomhive boy finding him was quickly eliminated from his brain. Scotland Yard would have been there in that case, just as they had been for all the other arrests when he had started naming names, and they were always obvious about their ways. If the earl had caught him, he would have known it.
So was it one of the drug lords, then? But who? He raked through his brain for all the names, eliminating them each one by one, his teeth gritting in irritation. He needed to know at least this much to inform his future actions. He was nearing the possibility of no conclusion when a chuckle grated in his ears.
"Well, you're awake. That's good. Trying to figure out what's what?" The voice was a crude, heavy sound, like gravel and mud mixed together in a slurry crunched under foot.
He wanted to spit acid back at him, but the gag held him back.
"You'll know soon. We're almost there, yeah?" The sound of creaking wood, from some stone-heavy body shifting, reached him. He tried to relax back into his seat as his head spun. The voice was unfamiliar to him now, but he promised to burn it into his brain.
The silence that wedged itself into the carriage did not last long. Daniel heard the soft "woah" from the driver as the grinding of the wheels and clacking of hooves dragged out to a stop. There was a pause, then the creaking of iron gates before they jerked forward at a slower pace than before. Daniel realized now that they were most likely approaching a country estate of some sort. But he didn't think it could be any of the noblemen he knew were associated with the drugs. Then who…?
"We're here," the husky voice said as they pulled to a stop. The carriage creaked and shifted, and Daniel felt a pair of meaty hands on his ankles. A rough sound like a saw approached him, and the tightness around his feet was released suddenly. The other person had cut him free.
"Don't try anything," they warned as they grabbed Daniel's forearm and roughly dragged him from the carriage. His feet tingled with needles, and he almost lost his balance. That strong arm held him up, however, as he was marched up some steps. Soon their boots were clacking against marble in a huge hall where the sound echoed about.
A door creaked open with a sudden change in the environment. Cold, moist air licked at Daniel's skin through his thin summer clothes, and slowly, he was led down what seemed to be a spiraling stone staircase. A basement, based on the temperature. His hypothesis did little to ease his mind as they reached the bottom landing and began to move at a quicker pace. The hard-packed dirt floor muffled their boots as they walked, and the absence of any echo suggested a packed room. A cellar of some sort? They would have walked through a kitchen in that case, but this was right off the main hall. Where on earth were they? Where in hell were they going?
Finally, a stop, and two heavy knocks of knuckles on wood.
"Come in." A voice he didn't recognize. The door swished open, surprisingly silent compared to the last one they had passed through. Daniel was shoved through the portal, and a sudden, sharp breeze hallmarked the slamming of the door behind him.
"Daniel, please, sit." A new pair of slighter hands guided him to sit in a stiff wooden chair. It groaned under his weight, and he would have been concerned about its integrity if his mind hadn't been racing to figure out if he recognized the voice speaking to him or not. It was a voice very similar to his own: one born of the mud of the streets and coated in gold leaf to give it the appearance of nobility.
"I do apologize for all the fuss, but you know as well as I that one can never be too cautious in the business men like us run," his captor said cheerily as the knot against the back of his head loosened and the gag fell free from his mouth. He took deep breaths and licked desperately at the raw corners of his mouth despite his fuzzy, dry tongue. He was left blindfolded and with restrained wrists in the chair, straining to locate the other man by the clacking of his heels against the stone floor. The noises stopped.
"Who are you?" he demanded in a raspy, hoarse voice that cracked when he wished it wouldn't the most.
"I can't quite disclose that, but you may call me Easter Dave." Easter Dave? But that was who… "Maybe you've heard of me?"
"Lady Byrne mentioned you a few times," Daniel replied. Easter Dave had been the name controlling the whole operation from the shadows. No one actually knew who he was; he went to great lengths to ensure that his true identity was kept a secret, hidden by the shadows of his many pawns. He didn't just control the flow of this new drug, either. Hardly anything went in or out of London without his seal of approval, and he had his ways of keeping all the lesser drug lords in line. His was a name only ever whispered in conversation, if at all.
"Ah, yes, our good Lady Byrne, God rest her soul. And her no-good husband, now rotting in the Tower awaiting trial. You were rather lucky to escape such a fate as well," he responded easily. Daniel shifted in his seat. He would have to manage this conversation carefully. There was opportunity; Daniel only had to wait and sniff it out.
"Luck had nothing to do with it," he returned. A soft laugh sounded.
"You're quite confident in your own abilities, aren't you?" Daniel wondered if he had made the wrong move. His throat tightened for a brief moment. "As you should be. You're one of the few left after that whole fiasco, aren't you? And there's a reason for that."
A wooden chair grated against the stone floor as someone stood. The click-clack of heels against stone, coming towards him. Satin-gloved fingers gripped his jaw, preventing speech. "It's because you are strong. Stronger than Lady Byrne was, and stronger than any of the lot beneath her."
A heavy pause sat between them as the words sank in.
"I've a deal to extend to you, Daniel Cormac."
Daniel took deep breaths as the fingers released their hold on his jaw. Heels upon stone indicated a return to his seat. "With Phoenix out of the picture, I find I'm missing a supplier to get my goods from Algeria to fair London town. The others are too busy covering their own tracks, with the Watchdog sniffing them out like he is," he explained, spitting poison with the name of their eternal foe. Daniel's brain whirled with possibility.
"And where do I come into this? I've no experience running a company, let alone a sham one," he pointed out. Humility and pride in doses.
"You are strong. You won't disappoint me like the others have. You have what it takes to survive." Silence rolled the words around in her mouth like a candy. "I will fund this business of yours, discretely. You will pick up where Lady Byrne failed. You will not fail me. That is all."
A wet rag pressed against his nose and lips once more, trapping the burning smell of chloroform in his mouth.
November 5th, 1891
The sound of crinkling, dry parchment and muffled, wet smacks engulfed the warm office.
A hummingbird thought flitted through Ciel's foggy mind: how was it that he had ended up with his fingers curled around Alois Trancy's thin wrists and his tongue squeezed between his cherry-pink lips? The sound of papers crumpling underneath the rolling of their hips brought his thoughts back to work, and he quickly retreated from the other. With heavy-handed breaths, he wiped his mouth of spit, severing the string of saliva between them, and met his lover's cornflower blue gaze as the golden curtains of his eyelashes rose.
"Why are you stopping?" came the sloppy murmur, accompanied by heavy lidded eyes overflowing like a cup of wine.
"You're making a mess of my work." Ciel's reply was bright and crisp, a snapped twig. The smile on those lips tugged a bit wider as Alois pushed himself from the desk. As he advanced on him, Ciel found himself sinking into the plush embrace of his velvet chair, the lithe boy placing one knee next to his right hip. A slender hand rested on the opposite knee as the blond leaned over him, effectively pinning him in the chair.
"I'm not anymore, aren't I?" he whispered as he caught his lips on the other's jaw. A short exhale burst from Ciel's lips, and he quickly pushed the blond's head away.
"No. Nowhere visible, or have you forgotten? This is illegal," Ciel grunted to the slight crease in Alois' brow.
"Alright then. Not visible," the other purred back, his fingers dancing up to the tie about the younger's neck to pull it loose. Yet another scolding smack.
"Not now, Alois."
They stared each other down, both glares hard as steel. Ciel hesitated, then, "I have work to do."
"You always have work," Alois countered, "Don't you ever take a break?" A joyless, breathless laugh popped between them as Alois leaned back. "But I know what this is all about. I think you're just too afraid to admit it, to me or yourself."
Heat rose up Ciel's neck, blossoming into a blush in his cheeks as he frowned at the other. He gave a gentle shove, watching the blond stumble away to the side of his chair. Ciel ignored him as he brought his chair closer to the desk and straightened the scattered papers. He could feel Alois' eyes on him despite the silence.
"I'm not leaving 'til you say it," Alois prodded. Ciel stewed for a moment longer. The papers in his hands crumpled under the pressure of his fingers. "Out loud. So I'm sure you know."
"I'm getting married in a month." The elephant in the room reared its ugly head.
"So?" Ciel hardened his eyes towards Alois as the blond sauntered behind his chair. Warm, lithe fingers slipped over his shoulders, kneading the muscle tenderly underneath layers of fine wool and satin. The tension released, slowly, like a gentle breeze.
"Husbands aren't expected to be faithful, now, are they? And you're not making another woman unfaithful to her own husband in the first place. What Lizzy doesn't know can't hurt her, can it?" Ciel could feel Alois' breath against his neck. His words were sweet and smooth and practiced, honey against Ciel's milky skin. He wanted to let them wash over him like a river, but something jolted him out of his stupor long enough to shake the boy off.
"No." Heavy and solid like a fist. "Lizzy doesn't deserve that kind of treatment. I won't hurt her, even without her knowing." Their eyes clashed and a breeze swept across the room.
"Ciel!" The jubilant cry twisted both their necks to the oak doors of the study, where an Elizabeth Midford was entering, her face sunlit and smiling.
"Lizzy!" Ciel's response sputtered from behind his lips. Alois leaned easily on his chair, eyelids dropping with the spread of his lips. Lizzy paused halfway into the room at the sight of the other earl, and her brow furrowed ever so slightly.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Alois, I didn't know you would be here as well. Am I interrupting work?" she asked innocently, eyes fixed on Ciel. He opened his mouth to give an answer, but only managed to draw in air.
"No, no, not at all! In fact, I was just leaving," Alois cut in. He sauntered away from the chair and around the desk. He exchanged a polite smile with Lizzy, stopping before her to delicately take her hand and press a kiss to her glove. When lips met satin, he shot a sidelong glance at Ciel from behind wisps of corn silk. Ciel glared softly at him. Why was he being so belligerent today?
"Oh, well, it was nice to see you, Alois," Lizzy said with a gentle smile as Alois withdrew, "I hope you have a happy birthday today."
Shit.
"Thank you, Lizzy. I will," he promised. His heels clacked against the wood like bullets all the way to the doors. "Farewell!" Ciel gaped at the oak doors as they slammed shut a moment before quickly wiping his face clean for Lizzy. She might get suspicious. He coughed awkwardly into his glove as she approached.
"Shall we go for a stroll in the gardens?" he offered, glancing outside. "It's quite warm weather for November. We might as well take advantage."
"Are you sure, Ciel? You look a bit pale," she commented from the other side of the desk. Ciel shook his head as he stood, offering her a mask with a smile.
"It's nothing, my lady. Nothing."