CHAPTER 18 - "SECRETS"
Lukas lay in bed with his hands behind his head looking thoughtful at the ceiling. Something about the conversion he had with Sebastian bothered him.
Sebastian seemed genuinely sincere about safeguarding Lukas from his enemies, those who wanted to retrieve him and take him back to who-knows-where, but ever since Lukas had arrived at the mansion, about two weeks prior, something about the atmosphere here disturbed him.
There was a thick, almost suffocating feeling when Lukas was ever around Sebastian; a dark, cold, debilitating sensation that he could not explain, and it was strongest whenever Sebastian was nearest Ciel. Their relationship was much more than master and servant. However, he could not decide what.
In any regard, Sebastian was completely devoted to Ciel and would do anything to safeguard him at all costs. They had only been in association for a little more than two years, ever since Ciel's torturous ordeal with the Inner Circle, after his - their - parents' murders, were they burned to death in the old mansion. But Lukas felt a much stronger bond between them.
It was late, and most of the household should be retired. All except Sebastian who would be still in the Study reading his book. So, he got up and dressed. Then collecting a bag of essentials, he crept down the hallway, and made his way to the kitchen in the lower levels of the mansion, and grabbed non-perishable foods and filled several small drinking flasks with water for a journey he prepared to take.
It was to be a journey that would safeguard his brother from any more burdensome trouble Lukas's enemies may cause him, despite the servant's reliability to defend the mansion. His enemies were still after him, and if he wasn't here, then they would leave his brother alone.
And besides, his brother didn't need him. Ciel was so self-assured that to stay would only drive him deeper into the shell his brother had encased himself in, burying the pain within. Lukas was a constant reminder of all that pain. Over time Ciel's pain will subside, but it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. Remove the salt that keeps the wound open, and the psychological scars will heal.
Lukas wanted answers, and he knew he would not find any here. The name Phantomhive was all he had, but it wasn't enough. He had to, as they say, do some "soul searching" to find himself, and hopefully in time his own psychological pain will subside, the pain of forgetting everything who he was; his entire past life. He was a child when he was taken from his family, and all he had were vague images Ciel and Tanaka had provided for him, about what his life was before Bryon Kelvin stole him.
You sadistic bastard! If I find you, I'll kill you for what you did to me! So I hope you're still alive!
He was still a child, but one with wisdom beyond his years much like his brother, and he had to play detective to get the answers he sought. And didn't know how long that would take. Scotland Yard had been on the missing children case for years without a considerable lead, so he could not depend on them.
As he departed the mansion, he took one of his father's pistols that had used in the duel the other day, loaded it, and stuffed it in his belt, behind his back. One shot was all he needed to kill Bryon Kelvin, if he was still alive. But he brought an extra bag of ground powder and lead balls if needed. The pistol could only fire once before having to be reloaded. He could also use it as protection against any seedy characters.
There were other weapons he could take, but a pistol was all he needed.
He recalled Bardroy, the cook, who used a rotating machine gun to defend the mansion. This, plus a rifle, used repeated cartridges, so it could fire consecutively, sometimes up to two to three shoots at a time. Then there was Mey-Rin, the maid, who had specialized hand guns that could fire six shots. And finally Finny, the gardener who needed no weapons, he was massively strong and could throw large objects at his enemies. This in itself a deep mystery. How did such a thin young man come to have such superhuman strength? But, Lukas didn't dwell on it.
He left the mansion, and with only a lantern as light, he walked the countryside roads, until he reached London. The trip took him about an hour and a half walk. By carriage, about half that time. He had thought about taking a horse, but then decided it would take too long to put the saddle over the back of the animal, and the horse might make too much noise and wake up the servants, which would ruin his leaving. Walking was easier.
The weather was chilled as he walked the dark streets of London with only dimly lit street overhead lights to guide his way through the cobblestone walkways, he had extinguished his lantern to save oil, and almost stepped in a pile of horse manure some sweeper forgot to clean, side-stepping quickly away from it.
Pubs were still active this late at night, and so were the prostitutes. Some of them, in his opinion, were very nice looking. And they no longer had to worry about Jack the Ripper. Scotland Yard reported that they had caught the culprit who was hunting prostitutes and murdering them in ghastly ways. Although, the man - Severin Klosowskim, albeit him an immigrant from Poland who had arrived only a year prior in 1887 and was trained as a junior surgeon - was merely a suspect. However, since his capture, the killings had stopped. But there was no conclusive evidence that he was Jack the Ripper. Jack the Ripper knew his way with a carving knife, much like a medical student or a trained professional, who had a great deal of knowledge of human anatomy; this man did not. Although, like many others, he was brought in for questioning. In the meantime, the sex trade was booming again, and men of all walks of life, young and old, were paying young women to get their jollies off. For a few coins, the women sold their wombs.
Lukas could only imagine if one of them got pregnant. Would they murder the fetus just to continue their trade of seducing men for money? Probably so. Ciel had a theory that Jack the Ripper was killing these prostitutes for just such a reason, because they detested being pregnant. They couldn't afford to raise children, so they paid for abortions, and continued their sex trade.
And there was no true legislative to stop them. Oh, (English) Bobbies patrolled the streets offering protection from assailants who didn't want to pay and assaulted the sex workers, but from what he saw, and in what he was witnessing now, they also engaged in sex with these prostitutes for money.
And he watched one screwing a prostitute in a back alley, peaking around the corner of a building near a pub called the Jolly Rodger, where a lot of prostitutes hung out. Drunk men were a prime target for these sex workers. It was said that prostitution was the oldest profession, beginning on the isle of Lesbos, in ancient Greece, centuries earlier. At first, the island only welcomed women, but then men were soon accepted, and visitors would pay for the company of a woman…as they do today.
A hand clasped his left shoulder and he jumped around started. He came face-to-face with one of these sex trade workers, a beautiful woman even from his young perspective. She had a beautiful, thin body, and long, flowing blonde hair. She looked around the corner and saw the same thing he had. Then turned back, and smiled, "You're a bit young, aint you, sweetie? Why are you out at this late of the night?"
He cleared his throat to get his voice. "I-I was lost," he lied. "I heard a noise and saw them in the alley."
"Well, best leave them be, sweetie. Maybe in six or seven more years, you might - "
"Elise!" The woman looked up and Lukas turned around sharply to see a seedy looking man approaching them. "Get back to work, and stop ye gabbing with this kid," he said, grabbing her arm. He pushed Lukas to the street. "Beat it, kid! Go beat ye-self off sum where. She's too old for ye."
"Harold, he was lost," Elise said. "I was only asking him if I could help - "
"He can find his own way."
Lukas got to his feet, dusted himself off. "You shouldn't treat women like objects," he said, his eyes like daggers. "Women deserve respect. And I was not soliciting her for favors, not like that policeman in the alley. How disrespectful for an officer of the law. They are to help people, not engage is deplorable acts!" He gasped, realizing he had just insulted Elsie. He looked at her with apologetic eyes. "I'm sorry…"
"It's all right, sweetie. I agree. If I could avoid it - "
"Enough your gabbing, get back to work!" Harold demanded.
Lukas gazed at Harold hatefully. His face and hair were greasy and his beard was unkempt. He wore a long dirty coat. Lukas surmised him up immediately a pimp, peddling his wears, namely women, then taking half their earnings, for his services.
Apparently how Lukas was looking at him offended Harold and he struck Lukas across the face with the back of a hand, knocking him back down. Lukas bled from the side of his mouth. Harold then grabbed Elsie and dragged her away.
Lukas wanted more than anything than to take out his pistol and kill Harold, but the piece of slime wasn't worth it, and it would only create unwanted commotion he didn't need. He wiped his face, looked at his hand and saw blood, then felt the side of his face as it grew sensitive to touch. He knew he would eventually have a bruise., but he wasn't worried.
He had landed in the street looking opposite into the alley where the Bobby and the prostitute were having sex. The police man stopped for a moment to look at him from inside the alley, and Lukas looked at him, but that was it, and the Bobby went on with screwing the prostitute hard and heavy, their moans echoing loudly.
Lukas got to his feet again, and continued on his way.
He hauled his pack filled with his necessities over his shoulder as he walked away from the pub, their rambunctious hollerings and laughter filling the night with drunken sordidness. He came to the front window display of a toy store along the way where he saw countless stuff animals, most of which had come from Fantom Co., his brother's toy factories. He never had any toys when growing up he recalled, although he did remember his father or the lair whom he had called father for seven years, did once give him a toy train. It was not painted, but it was fully built. He said he had acquired it from a friend, and it was a one-of-a-kind toy. He had been given the toy about seven years ago, and told it was a proto-type for a train that was now in mass production with Fantom Co.
His father never said who his friend who, but only that he was a wealthy, philanthropist like himself with a young boy his age.
Lukas put his hands to his head in pain as memories filled his mind. They were a jumbled assortment of people, places and things, and he dropped to his knees in front of the toy store, gritting his teeth, trying to think of something else, to stop these memories from coming to him so fast and so chaotically.
He remembered a man in surgical garb looking down at him, as he was strapped to a medical table for yet another of an unknown amount of times. This man had been working on his face, to change it; to change it to look like his brother Ciel, the Doctor as he had been known to be called. Lukas's face was wrapped in bandages, but he could move his head, and he could see another man sitting in a wheelchair to his right, with himself wrapped in bandages from head to toe.
"Once he is complete, doctor, he will be a work of true beauty," the bandaged, wheelchair man said. "He will be the ultimate assassin, traveling the world to bring upon my new world order with all my other children. And when the Inner Circle has fulfilled their end of the bargain, we'll leave no loose ends. My nephew will see to it." The man wheeled himself over. Lukas looked upon him with horror, but his mouth was bound so he could not speak. "Once your brainwashing is complete, my dear boy, albeit it might take some time, we should go to the circus and plan for the future, and the demise of your dear - "
Lukas started, and jumped, rolled to the side, as someone touched his right shoulder. He turned around front, put his hands out in front of him, and crouched in a defensive posture. His breathing was heavy and he was sweating despite the coldness of the night.
The memory flash he was just experiencing was like a foggy nightmare, and he couldn't quite keep it fresh in his mind. Tears rolled down his cheeks from the pain in his head, but he could not decipher anything clearly. Lukas looked up at who had started him and saw a tall gentleman in a long dark trench-coat and a top head. His face was obscured by shadows.
"Help me…" Lukas said without thinking, looking through teary-eyes.
"Young man, the streets of London are no place for a pup such as yourself," he man said, in a crackity voice. He stepped into the light of an near by overhead street light, and Lukas gasped shocked. The man had a wicked looking face with a hideous scar across it, with long white hair. His attire was that of an undertaker, a person who prepared the recently deceased for the afterlife.
The man put a gentle hand on Lukas's forehead, and for however reason the pain in his head, which felt like an intense migraine, began to quickly subside.
A sudden thought of the man being Jack the Ripper came to mind because he looked the type, because he knew the real Ripper was never caught. But Lukas pushed it away, feeling no evil here, despite the man having long, razor sharp nails that could slice open skin with a single swipe.
The man offered his hand, and Lukas took it, standing up.
"Forgive me, my lord. I hope I did not frighten you? Young Lukas Phantomhive…why are you out in the streets of London alone?" He offered a white handkerchief, and Lukas wiped his eyes and blew his nose. The man put up a hand. "Keep it." Lukas tucked it into a pants pocket.
"What did you do?" Lukas breathed easier, his migraine gone. He sniffed, smelling something like sulfur in the air.
The man turned his hand over that he had placed on Lukas's forehead, and it was a little moist. "I have embalming fluid on my hands, only a little. It's used to preserve a dead body. It also has medicinal properties that not may people are aware of, like soothing headaches. Some even drink it like tonic." He chuckled. "But drink enough of it, and your organs become numb, and you die within minutes."
"I'll make sure not to drink it. I appreciate your kindness." Lukas rubbed his forehead and smelled his hand. He had the smell of death on it. "I seem to be at a disadvantage, sir. You appear to know me, but I do not know you. No, forgive my ignorance. The newspaper article over a week ago that my brother wrote of my return to the Phantomhive family was telling to all of London."
"Only those who can read, my lord, but I did read the article, and what a lovely bunch of creative writing," the man said. "You wish to know my name? I have many names, but most people call me the Undertaker."
"Because of your profession, no doubt."
"Indeed." The Undertaker extended an arm down the street. "Please, let us adjourn to my parlor and off the streets; there is a chill in the air, and you might catch your death."
Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly, Lukas recalled the poem by some obscure writer.
He kept the pistol he had tucked into his belt behind his back at arms reach, just in case there was trouble with this man. In this day and age, London was a dangerous place filled with thieves and pedophiles. You never knew the perversity of some people.
And yet, he felt no, perse, evil from this individual, and his instincts were never wrong.
He accepted the man's hospitality and followed the Undertaker to his shop.
Inside, Lukas was immediately greeted with a showroom of coffins. They were on tables, the floor, standing against walls, and with candlelight casting shadows on the wall like dancing demons, by all appearances, everything exhibited a dark and sinister atmosphere. But strangely, he felt no fear from this place. In fact, it was curiously familiar. But he knew he had never been to this shop before.
The Undertaker went to the back, then returned with a mug of hot chocolate. Lukas took a seat on a stool next to a tabled coffin and sipped it when given. The warmth of the drink filled his insides with life removing the chill of death in his bones from staying outside for so long.
The brick fireplace in the corner was stoked with a iron poker by his host adding even more warmth to the room. The flames licked higher engulfing the wood logs in its pit. The Undertaker came to stand next to his workshop table, standing next to a coffin on the floor.
"Feeling better?"
Lukas nodded. "Thank you."
The Undertaker picked up a small scalpel from the table and caressed its metallic handle, gazing at it, as if to admire its craftsmanship. "So, my lord. What brings you to wander the streets of London alone, tonight? It is dangerous for young Earl's to be unaccompanied, especially if they are wanted."
Momentarily, Lukas didn't understand the Undertaker's remark, but then recalled the newspaper article. "Oh yes, certain people are still after me. But I can take care of myself." The Undertaker chuckled as if amused, but Lukas paid mind to it. "I am out, hunting for answers," he said.
"Ah, aren't we all. It is said that a man can wander the world hunting for answers all his life and find nothing, and yet a man who asks questions can live a rewarding one."
Lukas sipped his mug. "True, but finding a knowledgeable person in of itself can take a lifetime, and even so, answers are not always forthcoming," he said philosophically. "And asking a correct question can be equally tasking."
The Undertaker grinned. "It's hard to ask anything of anyone if one is afraid of disappointment, and reliability of the information received is also an issue. Lairs and villains are everything, to prey on the vulnerable. I am no acceptation."
Lukas eyed the Undertaker over the edge of the steaming mug. "Are you a villain?" He knew it was a child's question, but he wanted to test the man's reaction.
The Undertaker looked at Lukas, but did not seem to take offense by it. "I have been called many things, known for many more, and trust me when I say I am no hero either."
"Forgive my straight-forwardness," Lukas said, settling the mug in his lap. "I like to ask questions of a person's character before I dwell into answers I truly seek, to sum up whether they can be trusted."
"A wise thing to do." The Undertaker put the scalpel down and came to stand next to the tabled coffin, closer to Lukas. "I knew your father," he said, appearing to change the subject. "He was a kind man, always enjoyed helping other's less fortunate."
"I heard that of him, among other things."
"Such as?"
"That he headed a secret sect of people indebted to aiding in the liberation of moral people from evil. It was called the Aristocrats of Justice, or as far as I am told. My father's butler, Tanaka, said such. But I suspect the opposite, as the Phantomhive's were known as the lords of the underworld."
The Undertaker seemed to ponder a moment, rubbing his chin. "Ah yes, Tanaka. The elder butler. And what else did he tell you?"
"That a group of malicious men called the Inner Circle hunted them all down after my father and mother were killed, their bodies burned in the fire that took the Phantomhive mansion some two years ago."
"Go on."
"I don't know any more than that, other than what Ciel has told me. But, I suspect more to the story."
"Indeed, young Phantomhive. There is a great deal more to this story. I can say for certain that at least one member of this sect of your father's did survive. I was a member. And it was Bryon Kelvin, an outcast, who nicknamed us the 'Aristocrats of Evil', not the other name, for the order we tried to impose on London."
"I have heard that name before," Lukas said, sipping his mug, but not saying anything more. He wanted to know what the Undertaker knew before revealing what he did. "And I also hear rumors he is dead."
"A man can die a thousand times in his lifetime and it only takes one act of cowardice to bring it to fruition. Bryon Kelvin was a coward, through and through."
"He and his cohorts kidnapped those children, did they not?"
The Undertaker nodded. "He is a sick and twisted person. And the 'Aristocrats of Evil' were apposed to stopping him. But his political ties were strong, and through the flow of money, he was able to undermine your father, and…"
"So it was Bryon Kelvin who murdered my parents?"
The Undertaken shrugged. "I don't know who murdered them, directly. What I do know is that he brainwashed those sweet kidnapped children to do his bidding at the cost of their own lives."
Lukas looked melancholy. "Yes, I heard a story of that nature, as well. When my father and mother, acting on the Queen's orders, attempted to intercept Bryon at a warehouse. It was here they first met up with brainwashed children, and the twins Sasha and Samuel Ironstadt, who demonstrated their unfathomable hold on the children's minds, had one of them commit a horrendous act right in front of them. The boy who killed himself was the son of the Magistrate, who later offered a reward for the twin's capture. A week prior today, the twins attacked the Phantomhive mansion attempting to retrieve me, as I have been the only one of the children to apparently flee from their hold. I have amnesia of the last seven years, but I have demonstrated specialized skills that could only be trained to me, for which I instinctively remember."
"The mind is a funny thing, it can remember a lot, even when we don't," the Undertaker said. "And with help, it can be coaxed to the surface."
"I agree." Lukas sipped his mug, and gazed at the Undertaker with a firm stare. "So, then, Undertaker, perhaps you are the man I seek answers from to the questions I have? But tell me, why did the Inner Circle not come after you?"
"I offered them clemency. I knew things about them and their families and would expose them in an instant, destroying them, if they attempted anything against me. Hence, they left me alone. Albeit, they did try a few times, secretly, but all were futile. Eventually, they stopped, knowing I knew how to keep a secret."
Lukas nodded. "Well, I am in need of knowing certain secrets right now," he said. "Tell me what I want to know, Undertaker. Everything."
The Undertaker grinned. "That may take some time, my lord. I know so much."
To be continued…