Chapter II:
His Butler, Solitary
The peaceful silence that had occupied the Phantomhive manor all day had changed to a suffocating stillness in a mere two hours. That had been how long it took for the doctor to reach them from his previous place of business. Once the doctor had arrived and had been alerted to the situation, despite Sebastian being both the house's butler and acting steward for the past three years, only Tanaka had been allowed inside the Earl's bedroom while the doctor examined him. The rest of the staff had been left outside the door to listlessly wait.
Bard and Mey-Rin leaned against opposite walls, not looking at each other; though the chef's cheek was smeared faintly with soot—as was quite usual—the maid, for once, had removed her over-large glasses as she stared contemplatively at the carpet. Finnian, the gardener, had pulled one of the clips from his golden blond hair and, expression forlorn, was turning it over and over in his hands as he sat against an empty guest room's door. And Snake, the footman and newest member of the household, had settled down in Mey-Rin's shadow, two of his usual serpents twining about his arms and shoulders slowly.
The only one not slumped in worry or outwardly fretting was Sebastian, who had not moved from standing perfectly at attention since they had been left there. He stood watching the door, hands stiffly by his sides, as unmoving as a statue. By rights of their covenant, Sebastian had every right to be in the room with his master—and it vexed him terribly that he wasn't. However, because of social politics, the rules of propriety, and the fact that Tanaka did, in fact, out rank him, he was condemned to standing and waiting.
This…ordeal was very strange to him. So sudden. Humans usually reeked of infection prior to any symptoms even showing, but, apart from a couple of headaches, his master had shown no signs of illness for quite some time. Was it possible Claude had been correct and his senses truly had dulled from how long he'd been around humans? Sebastian doubted it. It was more likely that this illness had sprung from nowhere than that he had failed to previously detect it.
Another hour dragged by. The sounds of the storm began to abate, fading to a dull, peaceful murmur. A far off clock had barely chimed half-past six when the amassed staff started as the butler abruptly moved forward and opened the bedroom door, revealing a very startled physician—one Dr. Munroe—and the ever-calm Tanaka.
"Mr. Tanaka!" Mey-Rin, whose glasses had almost magically popped back onto her face, and Finny exclaimed enthusiastically, rushing over to the elderly steward for news. Though Baldroy and Snake were equally interested in the fate of their master, they approached Tanaka with a might more care as to his age and how well he might be handling the situation.
As Tanaka spoke quietly to the staff and Munroe got his belongings together, Sebastian used the opportunity to look in on his young master. The Earl of Phantomhive was sound asleep, and so covered in blankets that he was only visible by the cloud of his dark hair against his pillow. That situation apparently in hand, Sebastian quietly closed the door.
While he had been distracted, Tanaka and the servants had begun moving away from their master's bedroom and towards the servant's staircase secreted away at the far end of the hall and Munroe had already left the hallway. Sebastian paused, nodding to Snake in a nonverbal command to continue following the elderly steward when the footman looked back questioningly, and reconsidered his options. The good doctor had left his hat behind. No butler worth his salt would let a guest leave without their possessions, right? And if that guest had information that it would be natural for said butler to inquire about….
"Dr. Munroe!" Sebastian called sharply, slowing his gait from abnormally fast to a more human level of quickness as he finally reached the departing doctor. As the physician turned to face him, he added, "Your hat, sir."
"Hmm? Ah! Yes, thank you," the doctor blustered with a faint cough, not sounding thankful in the least as he accepted the bowler.
"If it is not too impetuous a question, might I inquire as to my master's condition?"
Munroe was silent a long moment, evidently attempting to judge who, exactly, he was speaking to. Seeming to decide he was speaking to a man of character instead of some lowly stable boy or junior footman as he took in both the perfectly pressed uniform and the head butler's pin on his chest, he murmured, "The Earl's man, are you?" At Sebastian's answering smile, he added, "It's a fever."
"A mere fever?" the butler echoed, allowing a measure of surprise to flit across his face.
"Aye. A damn strange one, as well. Been plaguing London these last weeks, each case sudden-like and never running within the same family or within acquaintances. Killing near everyone infected—" Munroe paused, gathering his thoughts, then continued: "I've given the Earl a sedative and left the rest of the vial with Mr. Tanaka. The best thing you can do for your master is let him rest and try to bring his temperature down. Good day to you."
Munroe turned back to the door as Sebastian obligingly opened it for him. Stopping directly in the middle of the frame, the physician added, "Were there no symptoms of illness before the Earl collapsed?"
"No, sir. My lord complained of several headaches this past week, but has mentioned no other issues."
The doctor was silent, thoughtful, for a long moment before nodding gruffly and resuming the trek through the rain back to his hansom. Sebastian closed the door on him, both glad to see the back of him and mildly concerned.
He flitted back to the Earl's room, making certain everything was still perfectly calm as he evaluated his options. The young master was still asleep and Sebastian's pocket watch read a quarter to seven; it was too late to start on dinner and he doubted his master would awaken anytime soon if previous illnesses were any indication. Not to mention that his lord's sudden fever was tugging at a distant memory. He couldn't recall the specifics, but he knew he'd heard something long ago about a sudden string of illness with only a fever as a symptom and no cure. If it was truly the same illness and it was truly sweeping through London, then it was a threat to his master and it needed to be investigated. Decisions, decisions, whichever shall I choose?
"Everyone."
The call was sharp and authoritative, shocking the small staff commingling within the servant's hall out of their quiet conversation. Sebastian stood in the doorway, expression carefully neutral as Bard, Mey-Rin, and Snake turned to look at him. It took a moment longer for Finny to raise his head from their dining table and fix him with a fretful stare. Tanaka simply gazed gravely into his tea cup and didn't move from his seat.
"Everyone, I understand that the current situation is rather trying, but we cannot allow unfortunate circumstances to distract us from our duties. The young master would be sorely aggrieved," the butler told them, attempting to raise the morale enough to ensure some work would actually be done. "Mr. Tanaka, would you please telephone Lady Elizabeth and inform her of the situation before you retire for the evening?"
Tanaka rose to his feet, the gaslight shining on his silvered hair and the resulting shadows turning the wrinkles on his face into deeply gouged scars as he somberly left to do as asked. It felt strange to nearly everyone present to not hear a single one of his usual light-hearted "ho-ho-ho"s as he departed.
Sebastian turned to the only female staff member and continued: "Mey-Rin, I expect we will be receiving company shortly; prepare the guest rooms. Finnian can assist you."
"Y-yes, Mr. Sebastian," Mey-Rin acquiesced, her voice thick with worry and trembling slightly as she teetered past him, nearly tripping over her skirts again as she did so.
The butler held Finny back when he tried to leave, preventing him from going anywhere momentarily, as he turned to Baldroy. "Bard, I've begun preparations for the evening meal. I need you to complete it for me. I left the recipe out for you and marked where I left off. You will follow it to the letter," he instructed, enunciating his final sentence very carefully so as to make it clear to Bard that, should any sort of explosives or heavy artillery be used in the preparation, the next thing reduced to cinders would be the cook himself. Sebastian let it sink in a moment and when Baldroy gave no indication of whether he'd heard or not, he added, "Do you understand me, Bard? To the letter. No alterations of any kind."
Bard nodded curtly in answer, outwardly aloof though the butler noticed that the blonde's pupils had dilated fractionally. The cook skulked past, a cigarette pinched precariously between his lips. As he passed Sebastian, he muttered cynically, "Everythin's done gone to pot now, ein't it?"
Yes, the butler thought. It has. But how is it any different than any other day in this mansion? Perhaps the amount of trouble that seemed to be near magnetically attracted to the Earl had made him numb to it—accepting that trouble would always find them, come what may, if it happened to be lurking within one hundred or so meters of them. Or perhaps it was his extraordinarily large amount of life experience combined with his demonic sensibilities. It didn't matter either way. While in a contract, he had no option other than to protect his master…and so he would. Even if his master seemed to be the cause of the trouble most days.
"What should we do?" Snake inquired somewhat meekly with an odd emotion in his golden eyes that Sebastian couldn't quite name. In an undertone, the footman added, "Says Keats."
"I need you both to keep an eye on the young master," Sebastian informed them, speaking quickly so as not to be interrupted. "Snake, you are to sit with him. Keep his temperature as cool as you can. Should he awaken, attend to him. I have an errand to run on the master's behalf, and so you will act in my stead until I return."
Snake had turned faintly green and his expression was laced with slight panic, as though he'd just been told he had to jump off a very high cliff and land safely with neither help nor ropes. Despite this, his voice was remarkably steady as he replied, "We will try our hardest to succeed…says Donne."
"I should return fairly soon, but, in the event that I've not returned in two hours, say…"—he paused to check the time on his pocket watch—"…nine thirty, Finny you are to switch off with Snake."
"M-me?!" Finny spluttered, staring back and forth between Sebastian and Snake with abject horror. "B-but I-I c-can't—"
"Finnian," Sebastian cut in shortly, not possessing enough patience to deal with this with any kind of compassion, "you are the closest in age to the young master and the only one to have previously tended to him while he was ill, other than myself. The later it gets the more likely he will awaken." He forced himself to not grit his teeth at Finny's helpless spluttering and to not reconsider if only to spare his sorely abused nerves. "You are the best option for helping Snake. There will be no further debating. Carry on with your tasks."
And, without further ado, the butler turned and walked from the room.
"Where do you think he's going? Asks Keats," Snake murmured to Finny, attempting to keep the aforementioned serpent from slithering up his shirt sleeve while still half wrapped around his neck.
"I-I don't—what am I supposed to do?!" the young gardener all-but wailed in despair, clearly thinking about his extreme strength as they also left the servant's hall. "What if I hurt the master?!"
Finny's fretting faded into the background as, thinking hard, Snake frowned behind his long fringe of pale hair. "He really left quickly…didn't even say good bye! I wonder what he's up to…says Emily."
The Phantomhive estate, stately in its expansiveness and brooding in architecture, sat just beyond London's furthest edges. While close enough to make journeys into the city easy, it was also far enough that coal smoke did not taint the air and it took a couple hours to enter the city by carriage. Sebastian made the trip, on foot, in under fifteen minutes. The night was frigid and the wind fitful, but the rain seemed content to hang in the air like a thick mist, allowing for a seamless transition from the countryside's trees to the city's rooftops without the risk of being easily seen.
Despite having a solid plan, Sebastian was far from content with the first half of it. But he had only two options and neither was very appealing. He could go speak with Agni and Prince Soma in the townhouse about if they'd noticed any strange happenings lately…but then he would be stuck there for the next few hours, listening to inane questions and getting no information himself. (Not to mention the trouble it would cause, if only because Prince Soma would immediately flock to the Earl's side whilst he was resting and that would cause far too much stress for the young master.) And so, in short order, he found himself entering a small parlor in a seedy part of town.
Cobwebs hanging thickly from the worn sign above the front door, the parlor looked very…empty to all passersby. However, not five minutes after Sebastian had entered it, laughter erupted from within in a booming, joyous cackle…much to the neighbors' displeasure.
Inside, the Undertaker had slumped over a counter, giggling hysterically into the old, slightly sticky (and very dusty) wood. His hands clutched at the surface for support, dangerously close to knocking over his urn of biscuits and beaker of tea. "Th-that was hilarious," the frost-haired reaper hiccupped, gasping for breath between guffaws. "Truly your best one yet, I'll have you know!"
Sebastian withheld a frown. He felt…marginally uncomfortable being here. Undertaker was a chaotic factor that, recently, he couldn't truly predict. On one hand, Undertaker was cheerful (if exceptionally morbid) and willing to help as long as he got a laugh out of it. On the other hand, the last two times he and his master had happened upon Undertaker, Sebastian had been run through with a death scythe, attacked with sotoba, and made an utter fool of while his master had been threatened and nearly devoured by corpses. Not to mention Undertaker's strange fixation on the Earl of Phantomhive and the fact that one of his funeral lockets was in memory of the Earl's grandmother. No, Undertaker hid his powers a mite too well to be fully trusted any longer.
As Undertaker's laughter slowed, Sebastian attempted to speak, only to be cut off with a soft hum of noise. "You don't need to explain, my hilarious master butler," Undertaker informed him with a faint giggle. "I know ex-act-ly why you're here."
"Goodness, do you really? Why am I unsurprised?" the butler intoned, voice flat with sarcasm.
Undertaker tittered again as he stood and scuttled over to a nearby coffin. He carefully removed the plain lid and peered inside with interest as he slowly said, "So the little Earl's sick, then." He shook his head disappointedly, his strange hat flopping pathetically at the movement. "Looks like you've failed to protect him again."
Inwardly, Sebastian bristled with anger. However, he forced himself to remain outwardly calm and discreetly sucked in a breath of dusty air to steady himself before sharply inquiring, "What do you know of the recent fever deaths in London?"
"Not very much more than you do, actually," Undertaker admitted musingly. He leaned in closer to the female corpse he was examining and, dissatisfied, picked at one of her sutures before snipping it open with a tiny pair of scissors. As he began to carefully remove the original sutures, he added, "Very strange, this illness. Never seen anything like it, meself. First, it springs up without warning and attacks its victim here." Undertaker gently tapped the corpse's forehead before softly stroking the hair out of her face and returning to his work. "Then it turns their bodies into little ovens and heats their precious, precious insides until they're cooked through. And then they get to visit with me for a little while."
"Cooked?" Sebastian echoed, taken aback by that particular detail. That was something Munroe had failed to mention.
"Yes," Undertaker confirmed, drawing the single syllable out quaveringly until it hung thickly in the air between them. The giggle that followed it only added to unnerving quality of his words. "Pity. It leaves them in such a terrible state; I can't even remake them as dolls."
The butler really hadn't needed a reminder of Undertaker's moving corpses—the so-called "Bizarre Dolls"—whilst in the middle of a room full of coffins. Truly, it couldn't possibly put him on edge, at all. Sarcasm aside, he was on too fixed a schedule to deal with being attacked, at that moment.
"I see," Sebastian murmured, trying to put all the pieces together. The only problem was that he was missing almost the entire puzzle. "And there is nothing else you know?"
"No. Nothing I can tell you at the moment," Undertaker chimed brightly. He looked up briefly from the corpse, silvery hair falling out of his face to reveal his phosphorescent eyes, swirling with secretive mirth, before he straightened up to look for thread. "Keep an eye on the Earl's soul while he's ill, butler. If I'm not mistaken, he'll need it soon enough."
The reaper's tone suggested that he felt even Sebastian couldn't fail to watch a sick child. Affronted that anyone could even suggest he was a poor butler, Sebastian spared him a curt "good evening", turned on his heel, and walked stiffly from the funeral parlor. The door snapped shut behind him, leaving Undertaker to restitch his corpse alone.
Once back out in the freezing night air, the real leg work began. First, he had to look through all of the local obituaries for the last month or so and find all mentions of those who had died of an illness with similar symptoms to those the Earl had. From there, he had to cross-reference each name with hospital, physician, and mortuary records until he had a solid list of potential victims. It wasn't as long as he would have liked it to be, but, by the time his pocket watch declared it was dangerously close to nine, Sebastian was ready to begin questioning the victims' family members. However, due to the lateness of the hour, he was unable to speak with almost anyone. Halfway through his list of names, he'd only made contact with two families. Neither family had had any new information for him.
How trying, Sebastian thought to himself. Determined to get what information he could for when his master awoke (he highly doubted the Earl would sit by with knowledge of such a strange illness, whether or not he truly was infected), he cut through an alley, making for the next side street over. The master does seem to enjoy falling into difficult situations. But what is to happen if there really is no way to reverse the fever? I can't willfully believe that is the truth of the matter, but, if it is, what then? There's no way to successfully meet my mandate when an illness is at play. Short of carrying the young master far North and dropping him into the ocean. The demon amused himself momentarily by imagining the tiny Earl bobbing along in the Arctic waters, spluttering and cursing Sebastian's name. His thoughts then turned shrewd as he decided his master was unfortunate enough, that, instead of it just cooling him down, he would turn hypothermic. No, Sebastian added sourly, he would make certain to drown or freeze himself out of pure spite towards me. He mentally snorted. Such a thoughtful child.
"Butler…"
The word was but a sigh on the air, but it stopped Sebastian dead in his tracks and yanked him from his thoughts gracelessly. He could feel eyes on him, watching closely, and an odd feeling was settling over his skin. His senses prickled as if electricity was running through his veins, dancing over his muscles. He knew the feeling very well—it was the way old magic felt, teasing and seductive—and, expecting the worst, he slowly turned toward its point of origin.
They stood at the very edge of the alley he'd departed only a minute or so previously, unmoving as they watched him. They made an odd couple—the woman tall and statuesque in a soft grey nurse's uniform and the man equally tall, but bulky and strangely proportioned in his bland, clerk-like suit—but, in the gloom, their eyes glowed unnaturally, like hot coals in a hearth. It was near impossible to tell from which the strong sensation of magical power was emanating from.
Sebastian was both curious and mildly fascinated as to why two of his kind would bother to follow him. They didn't appear to want a fight, nor did they appear to be protecting their territory (as some demons did rather zealously). Instead, they seemed perfectly content to watch him. Which meant…they wanted something. Demons rarely sought each other out without reason, after all, and so it was the only thing that could make sense in this situation.
The nurse's breath hissed inward in warning at the same moment Sebastian felt the air pressure above him shift. The screaming of a motor filled his ears. Gracefully, Sebastian leapt out of the way just in time to avoid being sliced in two.
"Oh, Bas-sy!" a sing-song voice called over the roar of cobblestones being destroyed by a quickly-moving death scythe.
Sebastian's leap landed him on his feet a couple yards away, thankfully untouched. He glanced toward the alleyway, annoyed that the demons within it were now gone, and decided he needed to stop venturing into the city if he was only going to be met by a reaper every time he did so. He turned back to his attacker and exasperatedly sighed, "Hello, Grell."
His eyes were violently assaulted by the sheer brightness of the colour red as the wind caused Grell's scarlet hair and coat to whip violently around the flamboyant reaper.
Grell grinned, showing his pointed teeth, and cooed, "I've been thinking about you all night, Sebastian darling, but I never imagined we would be working in the same area tonight! I am just thrilled to death." He lowered his death scythe slightly, letting it idle as he looked Sebastian up and down lasciviously. "You see, an awful lot of souls on the To Die list have been vanishing lately. I wonder…you aren't being naughty now, are you…sweet Bassy?"
Still grinning, the reaper pulled his favorite pose in a cheeky gesture of "I love you", revved his saw-like scythe, and attacked.
AN: Hello, there! First off, I'd like to extend a HUGE thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, faved, and followed this fic. =3 It truly means the world to me to see that people are enjoying it. Secondly, I forgot to mention this last chapter. I'm referring to Grell in the gender neutral form of "he", not "he" as in "male". The reason for this is that I, personally, think of Grell as female. However, in the manga, I've only ever seen others refer to Grell as "he". Hence, the gender neutral aspect. I just thought I'd mention it here just incase anyone finds me using "he" offensive to Grell. I'm not trying to be; just trying to keep my canons in line. =) I hope you've all enjoyed this chapter. Please review and let me know what you think. I look forward to seeing ya'll next Monday. ^^