What a stupid boy… stupid, naive and panicked.
Departing with no announcement, the servants would be puzzled by my absence. It was not a priority to inform them of the situation, especially when there was nothing they could offer. All I had was an echoing plea, and I entreated, as if it were some silent prayer, that his voice would continue to ring in my thoughts because this alerted me to one solid, reassuring fact – he was alive, and he would fight to keep it that way. It was the order that carried me, a flight that defied all reason.
The trip from London to Le Havre took the young master two days, between the train to Portsmouth and the voyage across the Channel. Rushing over tangled streets, the impassive cityscapes, athwart the icy tides of the sea, I took less than four hours. By the time I had arrived in the French port city, it was well into night. The harbour seemed in slumber, with boats roped to their docks and sloshing among a dozing tide. It was as if ravening instinct had brought me to this place, an unassuming workhouse located close to the main port, on the Southampton, overlooking the waterway.
The quietude of this industrial district of the city was dissonant to the alarm that racked my senses. There were no lights to be seen in the windows of this brick building, but a knowing thrummed in my chest, nerves buzzing to indicate that yes, he was located somewhere in that factory. Closer to me than he had been in days I heard such despondent whimpering, "What if he has forsaken me as well?" How I wished to hail through brick and mortar that such would never come to pass.
Taking to a shadowed side entrance, the lock was no obstacle. The main building contained an expansive room, long workbenches spanning the length of it. Sewing machines, looms, massive crates of stuffing, carving implements, lathes, paint pots, all tools and equipment required for a workshop, each bench outfitted with the necessities to complete some designated task.
The space looked ill-cared for. Broken machinery sat in the corner. Tables had not been cleared after the day's work. The floor was littered with scraps. Stucco chipped off the wall to reveal brick underneath. The air felt suffocating. The factory was equipped with electricity, but I saw where a live wire hung from the ceiling.
The scent of my master was in this place.
The creaking of a door could be heard from some other side of the work floor and I skulked within grimy shadow. The man's moustache was recognizable, as was his stature, those squinting eyes. It was Quintin Martel, the man the Earl had dismissed from the manager's position, a man who had no business being here and yet moved through the factory as if he had every right to do so. He stepped with urgency to a side corridor closer to the main entrance from which he had arrived. He felt anticipatory, spiteful, and victorious. My initial desire was to kill him on the spot but I considered the necessity of gathering information.
Ciel was being held captive in this factory, and Martel was going to lead me right to him.
His footfalls pounded through the corridor and I slinked back against corners, careful to not alert him of my presence. Past a medic room, a mess hall, and up a flight of stairs I followed until he arrived at a closed office rather isolated from the rest of the factory. From the bend in the hall I peered around the corner to watch him enter, and the lock clicked behind him.
I sensed five souls in that main office, one radiating with brilliant anger. Mr. Martel murmured some smug insult, and Ciel bristled to be so slighted. Of the other three, one felt rather familiar. Down the hall I felt another soul, unconscious in a locked closet. Elizabeth was breathing, unattended, and perhaps mostly safe for the moment. There was no need to rescue her at that point when my charge was very much in the company of four men who did not have his best interests at heart.
I heard scuffling in the closed office, a man shouting, and an unsettling thump. No more time would be wasted. I entered the room with the attitude that I had every right to join this company. Two men stood by the door and glared at me like I had stepped into a death trap. Mr. Martel wore a shocked expression. In the corner, Ciel looked up from his sprawled position on the floor, with none other than Mr. Hameldon pinning him with a knee to the back.
"Well, young master… what kind of mess have you gotten yourself into this time?"
Mr. Martel and his two lackeys pulled their revolvers.
"Just who the Hell are you?" Martel bellowed.
Mr. Hameldon spoke up. "He's the boy's butler. How in God's name could you have—"
"I do nothing in His name and therefor I am capable of accomplishing quite a bit. Now if you—" I was interrupted by the barrel of a revolver being shoved against my temple. I sized up the man wielding it: broad shoulders, a cut on his lip, somewhat kept but of no real status. This was a hired man, living to do a gentleman's dirty work.
"He pulls the trigger on my order, butler." Mr. Martel grinned with his pistol honed on some spot between my eyes.
"Ah, so it appears I have something in common with this hired help of yours, Mr. Martel. Do you have an order for me, young master?"
"Yes, take Lizzie and get out of here."
"I have every intention of doing so, but not without collecting you as well."
"I order you to save Lizzie this instant!"
My eyes shifted to the hit man who had his revolver trained on me, to Mr. Martel who looked as if he was considering shifting his aim to Ciel on the floor. The boy seemed irritated by his own helplessness, or perhaps he was irritated with how the cut on his forehead was bleeding into his eye. He had lost his eye patch at some point in time, and he kept his eye shut tight.
"If I thought you were in a safe position, I would certainly oblige, but it appears that Mr. Martel intends to cause you some great injury." Smiling, I added, "And while I find your order to be noble, it does go against my first priority, as well as your original order, to 'save us,' which I think I can assume to mean both you and Lady Elizabeth."
Martel laughed. "You think this boy is leaving alive? Ha, forget it, he knows too much. He just had to go snooping, and Elliot" he turned to face Hameldon, "I should drop this deal I made with you. I told you to keep him reeled in, but you blew our cover."
Mr. Hameldon stammered to see Martel shifting his aim. "How was I to know the lady was in on this? How could I have known she was armed?"
"You let that trollop out of your sight! She's with Phantomhive! You think any bitch who keeps company with the likes of him can be trusted?"
"How dare you speak of her—" Ciel was silenced by Hameldon banging his head to the floor and I winced.
"Shut it, you." The young man looked up as if he had done no more than swat a fly. "Quintin, he diverted me just to give her the opportunity to go snooping about."
"I don't want to consider what you mean by 'diverted,' but it cost me, you bastard. I was planning on just snuffing out this brat, but I have half a mind to off you for your idiocy."
I cleared my throat. "Excuse me?" The men arguing turned to me once more. "It appears you two are working out a misunderstanding, but I did not come all this way to stand here and listen to the pair of you squabble over my master's roguishness. So, if you would just give him back, that may solve at least one of your problems."
Martel stepped forward. "Do you think you are in a position to crack jokes? With a gun pointed at your head? Are you mad, or just shit-all stupid?"
The man with pistol loaded against me had his arm shattered before he even realized what had happened. He fell to the floor with his agonizing screams, which I promptly silenced with a heel to the throat. It was like stomping on a jelly pastry. Martel was shocked by the spray of blood, so much blood, how my shoe squelched when I lifted it from the man's throat, as his gurgling ceased.
I believe the other hired man soiled himself from the sight.
"Mr. Martel, I believe I am in a very favourable position. I suggest you tell your last man to stand down."
Martel was shaking, hammer cocked and ready to fire. I knew it was inevitable. The bullet caught me just above my left eye, sending me to the floor. It had entered but did not have the force to penetrate the back of my head, so it felt as if the bullet was still knocking around my skull long after it had stopped. Such an injury is disorienting, sounds muffled from the incessant ringing, stars in my eyes and my hands feeling disconnected. It was not the worst injury sustained on my master's behalf, but being shot still stung like hell.
Taking the hit was preferable to dodging his bullets and inciting him to fire off more. Better for a sure blow to land on me than to risk a stray bullet hitting my young master. Catching projectiles is not so difficult, if I were at a proper distance. In that small office, catching a bullet with my face required the least amount of effort.
I wheezed, lifting myself from the ground and hacking the single bullet. Martel jumped from it plinking on the floor. Before he could muster a full string of curses, I had reached into my jacket to sling a knife at the other hit man. As he hit the floor, I jolted from my crouch before Martel could register that he no longer had his aim on me.
Hameldon rose from the lock hold he had on Ciel. The boy remained motionless on the floor. Being slammed against the hard wood must have caused more damage than I wanted to consider. That man did not stand a chance. He could not reach for his gun in time to prevent me from slicing his throat. Even if he had, it would have simply prevented the inevitable. He was kicked away, catching the corner of the desk, clutching at his neck with laughable efforts to staunch the flow of blood that would have him unconscious in a minute and dead in five. I locked Martel in an arm hold, another blade pressed to his neck.
He froze under my grip as he felt the knife on his throat. "Now, this is what it means to be in a non-negotiable position, Mr. Martel. Should I kill you now? Or do you still have more to tell? Young master?" I turned to his reclining form. "Please wake up, young master, I need your orders. Do I kill this man now, or later?"
He whimpered as he lifted himself on his elbows, but seemed uninclined to raise his head. "This man deserves to die at the hands of a demon."
"Oh?"
Martel began to laugh, the crazed sort that came from a man who had nothing left to lose. "So this is what this is. The rumours about you, Earl Phantomhive, are true – an evil nobleman who employs the devil to carry out his dirty work. You leave a trail of blood wherever you step. No survivors, only speculations.
"Did you think your identity was a secret to me five years ago? My men had picked you off the street not knowing the jewel they found, but I knew. It was unmistakeable. Your nobility was your selling point, and I won a pretty penny off you that night I sold you."
"Do you have any idea what they did...?" Blood trailed down over the bridge of his nose, the side of a cheekbone, and was caked in his eyelashes.
"No, nor do I care. You managed to survive it. I heard rumour that one of the men I had sold you to was found dead a month later. They were all found dead, a total bloodbath. They tried to say it was a ritual suicide, but the bodies were so mangled. Did you have something to do with that?"
I tightened my grip on the man. "We had everything to do with that, Mr. Martel. Young master, your orders?" His head lolled in lethargy, and I knew that suffering a concussion was a real possibility. "All right, I have one more question for you. You have two options, and I can assure you both lead to the same outcome, which will be a most terrible oblivion. You can answer truthfully, and know that the information you divulge will be used to bring some other damnable soul to their undoing, or you can remain silent. Either way, your fate is written."
He was terrorized, the reality of his situation sinking into his mind, trembling from the reality that he would not escape this night. Even still, his voice was firm and unapologetic. "Ask me your damned question."
"What do you know of the murder of the former Earl Phantomhive? Who was responsible for the family's murder?"
He laughed. "I know nothing of the matter! I just run a human trafficking ring, and I keep myself anonymous to my sellers. The news of the Phantomhive murders rang through the underground, because without the Queen's Watchdog, we were free to conduct our business without fear of being killed in our sleep. Despite the celebration, the culprits were not about to announce such a triumph. We keep ourselves hidden, even from each other.
"But to discover that one pup survived the scheme... if he were to survive, we would all be in danger of execution by the state. I was going to do my part to ensure the plan was complete. I knew who he was, and I suspect a few of my clients knew as well. They were in agreement. The boy was to die to preserve our own interests. I care not how or for what means.
"When I heard of this talk of a ritual suicide, some who had seen the wreckage of that mansion that had burned down, they said it wasn't an accident, it was murder. Suicide was not on the itinerary for that night, but I thought the boy had been killed all the same.
"When I heard that a young boy had taken the possession of the Phantomhive Earldom, I couldn't believe it. I fled the country, took my business elsewhere, because if he survived that, there was no telling to what lengths he would go to dish out his cruel justice. It was only coincidence that I could recently establish my base of operations right under the Earl's nose, in a closer position to knocking Phantomhive from his pedestal than anyone else."
"You sure talk a lot for a dead man, Mr. Martel. Young master, your orders."
His head lay on the floor, right eye shining with a tired hatred. "Kill him."
The order sang in my ears, heat rushing through my limbs to crush this mite who would dare to wrong my master a second time. Blood spilled from mouth, nose, eyes, ears, a pathetic purling, quashed by being ripped inside out, steaming entrails, the bile erupting, sweet stench of human.
Ciel shut his eyes to the scene. He never wished to watch these things.
I tossed the twitching body to the same corner where Mr. Hameldon was sprawled in his own blood puddle. The place was a right mess, red smeared on the floor, splattered on the walls, flecked over the white shirt my master wore. My soiled gloves were thrown aside and I procured a fresh pair from my inside pocket.
Crouching before him, I lifted the boy, resting his head on my shoulder and wrapping his arms around my neck. The heat of his breath soughed across my ear and I tried not to shudder. When all immediate danger to him was eradicated, I could finally allow myself to acknowledge my own fright for his safety, and the relief that he was alive in my arms. My lips pressed to his imbrued temple to indulge in one rushed moment of solace, his pulsing warmth a balm to my senses. I whispered, "Do not sleep... stay with me."
"Lizzie..."
"I know, she is safe."
He was limp in my arms. I checked his injury. There was a nasty laceration, no fracture, some minor swelling, but his slow speech and loss of consciousness was concussive. It was the worst possible time for him to sleep when there was business to finish in regards to this damned factory. I had no idea where Ciel had been staying for the duration of his trip, how to tend to Elizabeth, where Paula was located, or all the details of this mentioned human trafficking business.
I decided the next best course of action was to retrieve Lady Elizabeth. She had been locked in the closet, and I could hear her sobbing from the other side of the door.
When I opened the closet, she cowered for a brief moment, before realizing it was I who had come to save her. A great sob of relief racked the fright from her. She struggled to stand, and her face was stained with tears from hours of crying.
"Sebastian! Thank God... How did you manage to find us?" she hobbled to me staring at the boy in my arms. "Oh Ciel, is he all right?"
"He will be, my lady. Are you well enough to stand? Are you hurt?"
She was crying once more, her bare hands stroking the Master's face, pulling the hair from his eyes. "Sebastian, there's so much blood! P-please no..."
"My dear, we are not in the best circumstance at the moment. The master's condition may be critical, so I need you to remain calm and assist me. And I have a terrible headache. Please, I must ask that you be strong for this situation, as I know you can be."
She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and shaking out her panic. She wiped her face and squeaked, "He needs a hospital."
"We do not have time for a hospital, my lady. I do not have time to deal with a doctor's questions as to how he received this injury, or who he is. There may be more who are seeking to end his life and I do not trust that his location would be kept secret. Tonight has the potential of attracting quite a bit of attention to us, and right now, my priority is tending to my master. Do you have a safe location?"
"My hotel. Paula is waiting for me at the hotel. She'll be wondering where I am..."
"Is it very far from here?"
"By carriage it was only a few minutes. It's closer to the shore, west of here. We took Southampton to Francois, and I'm staying at a hotel closer to the docks."
"Then that is where we are headed. We will probably not have the option of finding transport, and we look suspicious. Will you be able to walk?"
"I..." Something gave me the impression that this would be a great strain on her, for possible reasons I cared not to consider. She stopped her quivering lip and nodded her head. "I'll manage."
I led the way down the stairs and through corridors to the main work hall, with the intent to leave the way I had entered. "Sebastian, you did not answer my question. How did you find us?"
I needed a quick lie. "Ransom letter."
"So this was all planned from the start."
"It appears that way, my lady."
"There's no way we could have known."
The midnight air was mild, smelling of oil from ships and brine from the bay. Le Havre was something of a modern city, its streets outfitted with electric lights, filling the night with a considerable amount of light. There were few places for anyone to hide in shadow. On the other hand, being the only people in sight, we would appear strange if someone were to catch us through a window. If there was any activity at all, it would be further into the heart of the city, closer to the Basin du Commerce.
"Sebastian, I lost my sabres."
"My lady, what reason did you have-"
"I just wanted to protect him!" She cradled herself in her arms.
I shifted Ciel, attempting to keep his head from rolling back. Even if he woke up, he would be in no condition to walk. "My Lady, perhaps you should start from the beginning. What happened?"
"Today was Ciel's third day of visiting the factory. The first day he had noticed some things were amiss, and on the second day he had requested to be taken to the basement storage area, for there was an audit some time ago that reported some foundational problems. That is what he told me. He said that Mr. Hameldon had refused to take him down there, it was for safety precautions, but Ciel told me last evening that he was sure something was hidden down there.
"I offered to help, and at first he would not take it. He did not want to involve me. I was persistent, and he finally relented. He asked me to sneak to the basement to scope out the place while he distracted Mr. Hameldon."
"How did he distract him?"
"I don't know, but it gave me enough time to sneak down there and I discovered..." she began sobbing again. "There were children, Sebastian. It was filthy, they were lying, curled up and shivering... one was awake and she pleaded for me to help her..."
"And they are still locked in the basement?"
"When I was discovered down there, I do not think they were kept there for very long." Her hands covered her face. "Those men... what did they do with those children? Are they dead because of what we did?" She tripped herself up and crashed to the ground, not caring to stand.
"My lady..." I knelt in front of her, lying Ciel down for a moment, propping up his head. "We cannot stop now. I am being hard on you right now, but we have to keep going." It would have been so much easier if it were just me and the young master. I could have fled with him anywhere, but having to consider Elizabeth made this a unique predicament for me. "No more tears from you. We need to move fast. I need your strength right now. You can cry when you see Paula."
"I'm sorry." She sniffed, rising from the pavement and dusted herself. "It's just really hard right now."
"I know. Please, can you tell me more?"
"I was caught in the basement, and the man dragged me up through a back corridor to where Ciel and Mr. Hameldon were. Ciel took one look at me, saw I had been captured and pulled his revolver on Mr. Hameldon. The hired men saw this and turned guns on him, when Mr. Hameldon said no. I had a sabre hidden and I managed to bring down one man. When the other saw what I had done he aimed his gun at me, which was when Ciel pleaded for me to not fight. I dropped the sabre, and more men had entered the room. Mr. Hameldon ordered me to be taken away, and Ciel was screaming..."
We took a right onto Francois and the hotel Elizabeth had referred to could be seen in the distance. At this point it appeared that she was done speaking, for to divulge any more would result in further tears. There was a strange presence to her, a foreboding sense that she had seen and experienced more than she bargained for. This trip was not meant to be a fight for survival, or a mission to eradicate Ciel's enemies.
As we walked I gazed at my helpless young master, the abrasion on his scalp, his steady breathing. He would be fine in the end, but if he had let me accompany him I suspected things would not have turned out as they did.
The hotel was quiet, only a concierge at the front desk who eyed us in astonishment as we took the lift to Elizabeth's room. Paula was relieved to see us, and Elizabeth wailed at the sight of her, grasping for comfort in a manner that appeared she had indeed been traumatized by the event.
"Paula, the young master is in need of medical attention." I laid him on the bed, propping his head under the pillows. "I need hot water, bandages, alcohol, ice. I know the lady is quite distressed, but we will brew tea after I have seen to his injury."
She procured me these things and I set to work dressing the wound, cleaning his face, and then setting a package of ice on his head for the swelling. He stirred as I tended to him, but would not open his eyes. His eye patch had gone missing. He needed a bath, but it would have to wait until he was at least conscious.
Paula busied herself with tea while Elizabeth sat on a couch by the window, overlooking the harbour. She possessed a faraway look – the lethargy of one who was ready to collapse after the adrenaline had left one's system. Elizabeth took two sips of her tea and immediately fell asleep, her maiden laying a blanket over the young woman.
I sat by the bed where my master lay, for I could not be in any other place than at his side. I held his hand, considering that maybe my presence could be felt that it would bring him to consciousness.
It was close to two o'clock when he squeezed my hand. "Sebastian..."
Some unknown force compelled me to sit next to him on the bed, to pull him from the pillows and crush him against me, to smother myself in his neck.