All characters © Toboso Yana and Eoin Colfer
Note: This was inspired by a discussion thread on the Kuroshitsuji forum a little while ago. I had written my first attempted crossover last week, and it seemed to get a lot of positive feedback. So, I was inspired to so another one, which will probably be my last story like this. In general I don't like to read crossovers and usually don't write them, but, if I'm going to do it I might as well do it right. General spoilers for both series apply. Enjoy!
Ars Gratia Artis
I.
"I can't believe we're back here."
Ciel breezed quickly past a mime feigning imprisonment in an invisible box. His excitement for this place was waning, despite however attractive the Champ de Mars may be. The mime stared sadly after him as he walked, a painted tear upon his cheek.
"We were just here a few months ago for that whole Eiffel Tower debacle, for goodness sakes," Ciel griped. "The Queen—the real one—just loves sending us on such troublesome tasks."
Sebastian smiled. "Come now, Bocchan," he said reassuringly, "It shouldn't be so bad this time. Take a moment to see the sights." Ciel glanced up and gave a begrudging, yet compliant sigh.
"Fine. But if we see any flying monkeys we're sailing right back across the Channel."
2.
The Indépendants Gallery had been closed off. Curious onlookers peered over the rope that truncated the flow of visitors, wondering why such a grand exhibition had been cancelled. Upon entering they would have found a splendid show, save for a bare spot on the wall where a certain painting should have been.
"How could it have just vanished into thin air?" Ciel asked, irritated. The Parisian sun was making his mantle quite warm and his small legs ached from walking over cobblestone market streets.
The guard under interrogation shook his head, flustered, his cap swaying from side to side. He spoke English quite well, which saved Ciel the trouble of having his butler translate their entire conversation.
"We had no idea," the guard replied in a light accent. His tone suggested that he was not used to addressing children as professionals, even in this day and age. "Everyone who enters and leaves the Gallery has to go by us. One of us would have noticed certainly, if a painting had left here." He wrung his hands. "Mon dieu, Monsieur van Gogh will not be happy about this!"
"You say it was Starry Night Over the Rhone that has been stolen?" Ciel asked, which earned a nod from the guard. "Of all of the people who viewed this exhibition today, was there anyone who appeared suspicious?"
"Not even remotely, Monsieur Phantomhive."
Ciel sighed, doffed his top hat, and said, "I hope you will allow us a look around, Sir. Although he may not look it, my butler is an extremely adept detective." The tall man at Ciel's side gave a courteous smile then, and the guard saw that his eyes were bright red.
"O-of course, Monsieur," he said, removing the rope, furtively thinking that these two were far more conspicuous than anyone else who had entered today. "We would be honored to have your assistance." The pair bowed and made their way into the gallery, like fish into the open mouth of a whale.
3.
Ciel let loose a comfortable sigh, eager to have evaded the glaring afternoon light. Thank goodness he hadn't gotten sunburned. To his left a pair of eyes glowed vermillion in the dimness.
If he wasn't on the Queen's official business Ciel would have stopped to admire the artwork draping the clean walls of the Salon des Indépendants Gallery. The colors were splendid, and the apparent skill something rarely seen in England. Ciel approached the crime scene, where the wall looked rather naked compared to the rest of the room.
"Everything appears to be normal, albeit for the missing painting," Ciel remarked to the black-clad butler at his side, Sebastian Michaelis.
"Yes," he agreed, "to a human's eye. However I will inspect it further."
Ciel ran a gloved hand along the wall and noted that there was still a small layer of dust coating it. The floors were normal; the paintings around the bare patch seemed unaffected by its evident lack of presence. Nothing had been stirred up, and the typical signs of a burglary were completely absent.
Even for an eye as observant as Ciel's, he could not spot anything. The two looked for several minutes, and when nothing showed up, they looked for several minutes more. "Do you see any fingerprints?" Ciel asked his servant. He waited for a moment, but there was no reply. The boy looked over, craning his neck.
"What's wrong, Sebastian?"
The butler didn't respond. A frown creased his smooth brow, and his eyes narrowed to angular claret splits.
"Sebastian?"
He sniffed lightly, like a dog with a scent caught in its nostrils. Almost immediately afterwards he wrinkled his nose in apparent distaste, an expression seldom seen on the demon Sebastian. "I smell something unpleasant," he said finally. "Unfamiliar."
"Which means?"
Sebastian straightened up. "Nothing, I'm afraid. Whoever did this executed a brilliant plan," he exclaimed. "I apologize, Bocchan, but there is nothing here I can do."
Ciel gave a frown of his own, which he knew his butler could see perfectly well in the muted light. "Judging from our previous experiences, Sebastian…you don't think…" he trailed off, not needing to complete his sentence.
"Possibly, this could be the work of an inhuman," Sebastian agreed, "but remember not all phenomena in this world can be explained by something that is Unman. I can do many things, as your butler, but I can't be compared to a God—I'm afraid this case may take some time, even for me."
Ciel exhaled and made a little 'tch' sound through his lips. "Are you done with the lecture, Sebastian?" A faint smile tinctured the demon's features and he inclined his head.
"Pardon me." He took Ciel's hat from him and gently placed it on the boy's head. "We should ruminate over this and return in the morning, Bocchan. I know of a splendid place, the Hospes Lancaster Hotel, which would suit our tastes for the night." At this Ciel's expression brightened considerably, he already beginning to envision a hot bath and a cup of steaming Earl Grey.
After informing the Gallery's manager that they would look further into this case, Ciel and Sebastian departed. In all honesty the young Phantomhive had become quite peeved. It was not everyday that his butler was stumped, he noted with an embarrassed chagrin. He himself was at odds as well—the exhibit's guards had not seen anything, and there were currently no clues. The story was that the painting had simply vanished into thin air, which simply would not do. This would be a good challenge. Whoever had stolen the painting had made no slips.
If this wasn't the work of a nonhuman, Ciel Phantomhive didn't know what was.
to be continued.