Author's Note: Part four. Ciel and Clarence visit Bill Thomas and get a greater understanding of the challenges facing them. Enjoy.
Ciel and Sebastian: His Butler, At Leisure 4
Bill Thomas' cottage was located on the fringes of Bartleby-on-Sea and situated atop of a high hill that allowed it to simultaneously look down over the village as well the docks that stretched out to the west. It seemed to offer a good vantage point to monitor what was happening everywhere of interest if one were inclined to such activities, Ciel thought, and from what Clarence had told him of the fisherman it seemed Mr Thomas held such inclinations. The blond boy was quick to say that although the man was sometimes pompous and smug owing to his knowledge of Cornish language and history, he was a nice and kind man at heart. Clarence explained how Mr Thomas had carried him when he had broken his leg jumping from a cliff and visited him every day he was recovering to chat and lift his understandably low spirits.
When Ciel had asked whether the fisherman was prone to hunting for buried treasure either on land or at sea, his companion stated Mr Thomas often talked of gold and silver when he was drunk in the pub, regaling all who would listen with stories of finding such riches on a small island south of the village. He would claim to have reburied it somewhere on the coast, but when challenged why he was still a simple fisherman and not a king, claimed to have lost the map leading to the burial site. Clarence said he had heard it dozens of times over the last three years and had been fascinated by the tale the first five or six times, but dismissive once he knew all the details and indeed the words themselves by rote. He assumed Mr Thomas was reciting lines from some forgotten play or book and in fact had no knowledge of treasure located here or anywhere else in the known world. Whenever he was sober again, the man would deny having ever said such nonsense and return to being a Cornish scholar in his spare time.
"He's home." Clarence said as they drew up to the front door.
"How can you tell?" Ciel asked searching for some subtle clue to explain his companion's confidence. The blond youth pointed to the wet hobnail boots tucked behind the front step.
"It looks like he went out to sea last night. He probably only just got back to port since they're still wet." Clarence said before rapping on the peeling blue paint of the door. There was a long silence. Ciel looked uncertain. His companion nodded. "He's here. Just wait another few seconds."
"Piw? Pandra estra a kil?" A gruff voice barked from behind the door. The older boy was intrigued at having not heard anybody move inside. Clarence smiled.
"Theram a gwary! Idge Bill en chy?" The blond responded gaily. Ciel could just about tell the younger boy was being flippant before asking a question about Bill Thomas. There was another pause.
"Mava a cuska." The voice said to prompt a brief giggle from Clarence who covered his mouth.
"He says he's sleeping." The blond explained before pounding on the door with both fists. "Pana termen idgeva a toaz?" He shouted through the door. He repeated his question and his incessant banging for almost two minutes before the door was unceremoniously wrenched open and a red-eyed, heavily bearded man confronted them with rage slowly building beneath his craggy features.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, boy? Do you have any idea what time it is?" The man bellowed in a coarse and guttural voice. Ciel was amazed to see such rudeness did not affect his partner in the slightest, despite Bill Thomas being a very large and intimidating specimen with the hairiest knuckles the older boy had ever seen on a human being.
"It's almost eleven in the morning, Mr Thomas." Clarence informed him with a cheery smile. The man's rage turned to bemusement.
"Is it? I must confess to completely losing track of the hours recently. Please, excuse my language, lad. I had not expected visitors of any distinction for some time." Mr Thomas said in a voice that suddenly sounded like an exaggerated imitation of the gentry. The man bowed low. "I'm honoured to be in your presence, young sirs." Ciel had little idea what to make of this man, beyond the fast-growing idea he was a drunk scholar without ties to Ireland. It was a novelty. The fisherman's eyes fell on the older boy as he stood back up. "Your visage is familiar to me, young man. Perchance I have seen it before?"
"Do you always talk in such a ludicrous manner or are you making fun of me?" Ciel asked. The man's eyebrows shot up, seemingly of their own accord.
"By all the heavens. You must be Ciel Phantomhive, an earl of the realm. You slew Lord Winslow, if the journalists are to be believed, barely a fortnight gone. Their words were not kind in describing you." Thomas replied. The older boy was beginning to wonder whether everybody in this village and surrounding area knew about him. They seemed very well informed for children and fishermen.
"It was actually more than three weeks ago. However, none of that is of any importance right now. Clarence and I have a more pressing matter that you may help us with. Is this your handwriting?" Ciel said holding out the remains of the letter for him to inspect. The man took hold of it and frowned.
"This is my script, but I do not recall penning such a work. What fate befell it?"
"It was burned. The black stuff is dried blood, Mr Thomas." Clarence told him whilst pointing to the black stains with a singer finger. The fisherman's face was unmoved by this revelation, remaining deep in concentration.
"I see. Where did you acquire this sorry excuse for a document?"
"Up near the cliffs to the east. Do you have any idea how it got there? Could you have written it for someone? We believe it was written four days ago on Thursday." Ciel said to try and prompt him. The man appeared to think hard on the matter. Silence reigned for several minutes.
"I was in The Linnet and Lark on Thursday. I can admit to having quite the tipple to drink and not quite being altogether on the events that transpired…"
"Will you please cease this archaic speech of yours? This is not a Shakespearean play and you are not on a stage. I've been a member of the gentry all my life and never encountered a single lord or lady addressing another with such ridiculous airs. Talk normally or I will have no choice but to leave you to your wallowing." Ciel interrupted having endured all he could stand of this self-indulgent rhetoric. The fisherman looked both embarrassed and ashamed by this reprimand. Before he could give a response, Clarence took the older boy by the arm and pulled him to some ground just out of earshot.
"You can't talk to witnesses like that, Ciel. Not only is it completely rude and unnecessary, but it makes them feel like idiots. Then they shut their mouths and don't talk again." The blond boy told him curtly. Ciel, still reeling slightly from having an eleven-year-old practically drag him to one side, clenched his jaw. He could tell his companion was not finished yet. "I know you're an earl and all that, but it doesn't mean you can treat people like dirt. I thought you were supposed to be smart." The older boy nodded in agreement. Clarence was right: this was not London and he was not dealing with his own kind, people who shrugged off such insults with ease.
"I suppose I should apologise to him. He doesn't seem like he's even capable of hurting another man, much less killing one." Ciel said with a sigh. His companion nodded.
"He's a good person at heart. He just likes to feel sophisticated. I think he's putting on more 'airs' as you call them than usual because he's talking to you. He wants to impress you I think." Clarence said with a smile that said he had already forgiven Ciel's earlier rudeness. The older boy was grateful.
"I think you're right. Let's try again."
Ciel could not recall having ever apologised to a commoner for speaking his mind. It was simply not done. But he did apologise to Bill Thomas and found the man was just as forgiving as Clarence in putting the issue behind them. The fisherman told them he remembered speaking to an Englishman about the island and the treasure in the pub on Thursday afternoon. He could not be sure of the Englishman's name, thinking it perhaps began with a 'B', but gave a good description of him. Apparently the man they sought was around thirty years of age with thick brown hair, a trimmed moustache and a military air. He spoke in an Upper-Class accent, but his clothes said he was not a member of nobility, being much too plain and worn for that. The Englishman had bought him numerous drinks, the fisherman recalled, but ordered none for himself. He had wanted to be sober, Thomas remembered him saying quite clearly. When asked if he could have written out the story on paper for the Englishman to study, the man admitted it was possible. But, he said, writing it in Cornish for a man who clearly lacked an aptitude for languages made no sense.
"Bill said most of the words left on the letter were about the legend of the treasure," Clarence said as the pair sat on a low wall after concluding their interview with the fisherman, "but not anything about where someone might find it." The blond boy said handing Ciel the translated fragments of text from the letter on a piece of notepaper. The older boy nodded whilst scanning the recovered passages:
Respect the sea gods…
Humanity holds the key…
Riches beyond the shoal…
Treasure lies in wait for…
Do not tempt fate for…
Fool's errand…
Marked by a…
Kings and queens you will be!
"I'm sorry I grabbed you like that." Clarence said to break his companion's train of thought. Ciel turned to him and frowned. The blond boy looked guilty about the whole affair. "You looked so disgusted when I was blowing at you I was afraid you'd smack me. I guess people like me aren't allowed to touch lords and ladies…or earls like that." The older boy shook his head.
"No, you were right to reprimand me like that. Other noblemen wouldn't have dared do that for fear of their reputations being sullied and I often forget how arrogant I am sometimes. If you hadn't got me to apologise, we might not have any leads to follow."Ciel assured the blond youth whilst gifting him a smile. Clarence smiled back.
"I'm glad I could help. So, should we start by going to the pub Bill mentioned and asking around?"
"Definitely. However, clarify something for me…" Ciel said sharing the paper between their laps, "You said that you'd heard his story enough times to know it by rote. Are all these fragments part of his story or do some of them offer clues to a possible location for this treasure?" Clarence read through the lines again, a finger following him as he moved from word to word. Ciel noticed the finger being used was marked by two scars that ran horizontally across the entire length in parallel to one another. Their origin looked painful.
"No, although, usually he uses bay instead of 'shoal' and Fool's message instead of 'errand' when he tells it down the pub."
"Can you fill in the blanks with what you know? Maybe then we can make more sense out of it."
"I can try. I can't promise I'll get all of it right. I'm not known for my memory." Clarence said with a sheepish smile before it was sudden replaced by a frown. "Are you hungry?" The blond asked pressing a hand against his stomach.
"Well, now that you mention it, I suppose I could use something to eat. We could share what my butler prepared for my lunch if you like." Ciel said placing the small box, which he had been carrying around since the demon's departure almost an hour ago, between them.
"Your butler prepared this?" Clarence said after a few testing bites of the exotic-looking salad Sebastian had said originated from Korea. "It's really good. I mean, I've never even heard of half these ingredients but it's really tasty." The boy added before scoffing down more and nodding in approval. "Does he always serve you food like this?"
"Usually. He knows I like French cuisine best, but insists I try new things from time to time." Ciel responded taking another measured forkful into his mouth. His companion frowned.
"Can't you order him not to?"
"I can, but that would make me very narrow-minded. I like to think I have broad horizons."
"That's a good answer. Who taught you to speak so well?" Clarence said digging into the bottom of the box with his fork for leftovers. Ciel wondered if the blond had ever sampled anything foreign in his whole life. His green eyes seemed mesmerised by the purple of the Bok-Choy and red of the chilli dressing as if he had never seen such colours before. The older boy shrugged.
"Tutors. I had some elocution coaches when I was younger, but I don't anymore."
"Elocution?"
"Pronunciation."
"I see. They're…synonyms, right?" Clarence said with some careful pronunciation of his own. Ciel could admit to being impressed a country boy, who did not even speak English as his native tongue, knew what a synonym was. He smiled at his younger companion.
"Close enough."
"I just thought it might have been Sebastian again. You and he sound alike. Does he instruct you at all?" Clarence said whilst vainly searching for more food in a now empty box. Ciel had never heard this said before. He supposed he and the demon did share the same vocabulary, the same manner of speaking. Since Sebastian was largely responsible for returning him to the conduct and bearing of a gentleman after his incarceration, the older boy supposed the demon had instructed him. Perhaps he had even…raised him, in some vague sense of course, the last few years. Regardless, Ciel elected to be reserved in his answer.
"Yes, a little."
"Why did you send him away?"
"We don't need a chaperone. We can handle this mystery just fine by ourselves." Ciel stated closing the lid on the box. He had stopped living a life wrapped in cotton wool a long time ago. Sebastian would come if needed. Clarence nodded in agreement before handing him a folded piece of paper. The older boy frowned.
"What's this?"
"It's the story Bill keeps telling. I wrote it out like you wanted." Clarence explained as the paper exchanged hands. Ciel could not remember his companion writing anything at all during their conversation or lunch.
"When?"
"While we were eating." The blond said as the older boy briefly scanned over the document. Clarence had very neat handwriting and a remarkable memory, given the writing stretched to almost twenty lines. Although Ciel counted four spelling mistakes amongst the script, it was nevertheless an impressive effort. Something did puzzle him though and he voiced it without feeling stupid.
"I thought you were left-handed." The older boy remarked having reached his conclusion by watching Clarence use his left hand for knocking, holding the letter and holding his fork. The Cornish youth smiled and shook his head.
"Nope. I'm just as good with either. Sometimes I swap them for fun." Ciel was amazed not to hear a trace of arrogance in his companion's voice despite revealing mastery of such a difficult talent as ambidexterity. The older boy inclined his head.
"Impressive. May I correct the spelling errors for you?"
"Like I'm going to say 'no'. What do you think of it?"
Ciel read through the document again:
Respect the sea gods, they do not forgive easily.
Take heart when striking for riches. They are closer than you think.
Humanity holds the key when you go to sea. Do not lose it to greed.
When going on the waves, remember to row with the arms not the head.
You must drift farther than the shoal, be courageous when crossing boundaries.
Riches beyond the shoal are gained only by determination and bravery, never dark intent.
Treasure lies in wait for the able seaman, the skilled navigator and the true patron of the ocean.
Do not tempt fate for fortune. Do not favour opportunity over destiny. If a thing is meant, it will come to pass.
A Fool's errand is only worsened by ill company. A strong friendship can aid a mariner, but only if it is out of love, not profit.
Once ashore the fair isle, walk with purpose to the eastern wood. Do not stop to consider another path.
Within the wood is a stone that does not belong in nature. It holds the key to your desires.
Take the fork this stone overshadows, bearing left not right and forward not back.
Danger is rife and gallantry is tested when travelling this path. Take heart. Riches are not far.
Marked by a dead man's skull, you will face a choice that cannot be made for you.
Make it right or make it wrong, the spirits will guide you to a destination. What awaits is what you have earned.
Should you find yourself amongst the ruins of the old world, the treasure still waits for your arrival.
Should you find yourself wandering cliffs, a treasure of sorts awaits your thirst for wealth.
If a thing is meant, it will come to pass.
The ruins hold the key to wealth and riches untold. Find the centre and dig where the eye meets the anchor…
Kings and queens you will be!
"I think you should be known for your memory if this is an example of it. The wording is very specific. It kind of reads like a checklist. Every line follows the other step-by-step. But there's no coordinates or idea of where the island is, except that it's beyond the shoals." Ciel mused before considering something. "You said he usually says 'bay' instead of 'shoal' when he tells it at the pub. Do you know what bay he may be referring to?" Clarence adopted an expression of intense concentration.
"There's actually three. They're all named after birds. None of them are within three miles of the village."
"And the shoal?"
"You can see it from here." The blond said pointing directly in front of them and out to the ocean. Ciel stood up and walked forward to get a better view of the enormous sandbar four or five miles off the coastline wedged between a pair of rocky outcrops. Beyond it, he could see three or four small islands. All of them had woods.
"What is it, Ciel?" Clarence asked drawing up alongside him, "What are you thinking?"
"Are there islands by the three bays?"
"Yeah, there's tons of them."
"And people have gone looking for this treasure before?"
"Yep. You're thinking maybe they've been looking in the wrong place, huh?" Clarence said, further demonstrating his perception. Ciel nodded whilst continuing to regard the islands.
"If Mr Thomas always uses bay when regaling patrons down the pub, why would anyone think to search elsewhere? Imagine going for a treasure hunt but starting in the wrong place. What if the treasure is just over the shoal?"
"If that's true…why hasn't he already gotten the treasure? Why give people false hope?"
"You said he lost the map to where the treasure was buried. But just reading it makes it seem like the treasure's location is a puzzle. In theory, one just has to solve it to find the treasure."
"Do you think the murderer figured that out before they burnt the letter? They would've seen it from the cliff where we found the blood."
"Perhaps. It would explain why they felt the need to burn the letter in the first place. Let's get to the pub. Maybe then we can really begin to piece this together."