Master Wallace W. Wallace was having the time of his life. His parents had tried to send him off to yet another prestigious boarding school, this time far away from London and its earthly pleasures, but he had been able to get expelled and was now on his way home. God bless the man who had invented fireworks!
Yes, everything was going his way. He had not one, not two, but three escorts in the carriage with him! All of them were young, beautiful ladies who clearly worshipped him. He could tell because they spent a lot of times rolling their eyes when they thought that he wasn't looking—a sure sign that they thought he was the biggest and best thing since Big Ben.
The carriage passed through a heavily wooded area and began circling up, passing over a ravine. Wallace W. Wallace didn't look out the window as the carriage rolled on; he had no interest in nature, especially nature in the middle of the night.
"So as I was saying, it's obvious that the world is flat; I mean, just look at it; if it was round, we'd all be rolling around right now, right?"
"Uh-huh," one his escorts said.
"So true," another said in that biting way that most women used around him. If he didn't know better, he would have called it "sarcasm!" Good thing he knew better.
But then the carriage suddenly stopped. It stopped so suddenly that Wallace W. Wallace was thrown into the seat across from him. Normally he wouldn't have minded so much, but the woman who was sitting across from him had scooted away so that his face smashed against the cushiony seat, which didn't hurt, but it would have felt much nicer if he had landed on a woman.
"HEY!" he shouted, getting out of the carriage. "What the hell is going on here? I demand that we keep moving…"
He trailed off in surprise. There were four hooded figures standing in front of them. One of them had the coachman. They all had guns.
"Alright, everyone out of the carriage," one of the figures said coolly. "Get everyone out! Green, go."
One of the figures stepped forward and dragged each of the three escorts out.
"Anyone else?"
"It's empty."
"Good. Everyone, line up and turn around."
The one with the coachman stepped forward and deposited him in the line. Wallace W. Wallace also made a move to join their ranks when one of them—the one they had called "Green"—had grabbed him and dragged him back.
"Oh no, not you, sunshine."
"Excuse me!" Wallace W. Wallace said, offended. "Do you know who I am? I am Wallace W. Wallace!"
Three of the figures glanced at the fourth one, who checked a piece of paper in his pocket.
"Yes, it's him. Get him inside."
The Green one shoved him back inside the carriage and climbed in, pointing a gun straight for his head. Another one shortly followed.
The one with the paper got up into the driver's seat and whistled.
"Grey!"
The last one, who was still pointing a gun at the four others, ran over to the paper one and climbed on. The first one made a clicking sound and snapped the reigns and the horses ran on into the night, leaving the coachman and the women behind.
Wallace W. Wallace shrank back into his seat, cowering before the two hooded strangers.
"L-Listen," he whimpered, "just let me go and I'll make it worth your while; I have extremely rich parents; I'm sure that they'll reward you?"
"Really?" asked the one who wasn't pointing a gun at him. "How much are we talking?"
Green jammed an elbow into the other's side.
"Shush, Blue!"
"Is everything alright in there?" one of the drivers asked.
"Just fine, Red!" Green cooed. "Awfully lonely in here though…"
The one called Red scoffed and went back to driving and his conversation with the one named Grey. The two in the carriage with Wallace W. Wallace didn't talk to each other; it seemed that the Green one didn't like the Blue one. Wallace W. Wallace wondered what genius gave them their names. Now look at his name: Wallace W. Wallace! Now there was a name! Just thinking about it made him want to repeat it a million times! Wallace W. Wallace. Wallace W. Wallace.
"Wallace W. Wallace," Wallace W. Wallace murmured to himself, "Wallace W. Wallace. Wallace W. Wallace. Wallace W. Wallace."
"Shut up," Green and Blue chorused in one voice and Wallace W. Wallace whimpered and again tried to vanish into his seat. Apparently they agreed on the most important things.
At least they didn't seem intent on taking him someplace dangerous. They were merely heading back to London. Perhaps his parents had heard of his expulsion and had prepared this little surprise just to teach him a lesson. He wouldn't put it past them. He forced a small laugh.
"Heh-heh," he said nervously. "My parents sent you, didn't they? To teach me a lesson. Well, lesson learnt! So if you could just drop me off somewhere, like a pub or something…"
"Shut up!" they said again and Wallace W. Wallace shut up.
They weren't going to a pub. They weren't even going back to the Wallace St. Wallace Mansion. They were heading for Scotland Yard.
"Now, really!" Wallace W. Wallace said, offended. "This is really too much; I've learned my lesson; there is no reason to turn me into the authorities…"
"Shut up!"
"What is it?" Red asked. "What's going on?"
"He won't shut up about his parents," Blue said.
"Point a gun at him or something, then; honestly, I thought you two could handle it…"
"We can handle it!" they chorused again and this time they both glared at him and pointed guns at his head, as if blaming him for making them look bad.
They stopped at Scotland Yard and Green (rather unnecessarily, he thought) jammed his gun into Wallace W. Wallace's back to get him out of the carriage quicker.
"Come on; move it!"
There were several policemen waiting inside for them, as well as a richly-dressed child with an eyepatch and the head of Scotland Yard, Lord Arthur Randall.
"This is him?" Randall said coldly when all five of them were inside.
"This is him. Wallace W. Wallace?" the child asked, standing up.
"Y-Yes…"
"It's him," the kid said. "Take him away and keep him safe."
"'Keep me safe?' Why? What's going on? What's happening? When do I get my one phone call?"
"Tonight," the child said coolly, "you were almost murdered."
"Murdered?" Wallace W. Wallace gasped and then realized something. "That's right! I almost was!"
"WHAT?!" Ciel and Randall looked at each other and then at him. "Almost murdered? By whom?"
"By them!" Wallace W. Wallace said, pointing at the four hooded figures standing behind him. "They almost killed me! They kidnapped me and they drove me here and they deposited me here! Arrest them immediately!"
The child groaned and pressed his hand on his forehead.
"I can see why his parents wanted him gone," he mumbled.
"What'd you say?"
"Nothing," the kid said hurriedly. "Master WW.W, these four people just saved your life."
"What? Impossible! I refuse to believe it!" He also chose to (temporarily) ignore the temporary rudeness of shortening his simply wonderful and especially creative name.
"Believe-it-or-not," the kid said. "Tonight, someone was hired to kill you. These people interfered and have gotten you here, to safety."
"Alright, I think that's enough from you, Lord Phantomhive," Randall said. "Thank you for your assistance. Feel free to leave now."
"Of course, Lord Randall," Ciel said. "Thank you for all your assistance. Come along, you four." And he strode out of the building, with the hooded persons following him.
Wallace W. Wallace was kept in Scotland Yard for a month to ensure his safety, but it wasn't bad. His parents visited often and—even more importantly—dozens of impressed young ladies came over to hear him tell and retell the story of how he was almost murdered by four hooded ruffians. The first story was fairly true-to-life (only with less him whimpering in the carriage and more of him providing witty comebacks), but the last story he told involved him single-handedly beating up his four would-be assassins and running several miles without pausing to Scotland Yard, where he had told his story and had his wounds treated (because of course he had gotten shot several times; twice in the head, apparently).
Meanwhile, Ciel, Red, Grey, Green, and Blue (who were, of course, none other than Sebastian, Agni, Grell, and Eleanora) had returned to Phantomhive. Ciel had taken Eleanora aside and they had whispered to each other for some minutes and she had left him, nodding.
"My Lord, what happened?" Sebastian asked once she had left.
"Oh, nothing; I just convinced her to work for us again."
"Really? How?"
"I told her that it was inconvenient for all of us to run to-and-fro from the East End to get her assistance in a job and that we were paying her more and in a steadier way than she was earning from her brawling." Ciel glanced at Sebastian. "I hope this won't be a problem?"
"No sir. No problem at all."