"Wake up, my lord."
Venice slowly opened his eyes, blinking away the dregs of artificially induced sleep. "Is he here?" He asked, raising himself on trembling hands. Over the past days his dosage increased but he still grew weaker and weaker.
To the door a heavy, yet sophisticated knocking was placed, ringing out through the cramped home. Zadig left to open the door, giving Venice time to dress properly. Venice had little clothing that suited the situation and settled with a white blouse and clean trousers. He placed a smile upon his lips and held his head high, conscious of his gloomy eyes and sullen brows. This was the first time he had received guests. His father stumbled out of his office, staring grimly at the door. He noticed Zadig and Zadig did not seem to mind being seen. Venice thought this was peculiar and wondered if Zadig was invisible to his father.
The three guests entered, all in frock coats and especially pale. The tall butler behind his dark-haired master gave Zadig an askance look. Arthur looked directly at the butler and greeted him stiffly, coldly even. The boy, however, did not appear to give much thought either way. He kept his eyes forwards, looking vaguely at Venice.
Venice knew sickness intimately and recognized all the signs at once. He saw Ciel's trembling lips and the tremor in his hands, still trying to remain still to prove his power over the other.
"Hello," Venice said, approaching them. "I'm Venice Lock." He held out his hand. Ciel reached for it.
From behind, Lock, who had seemed to have molded with the scenery, burst through and cut off the two. "Wh-who might you all be?" he said.
"I am Ciel Phantomhive of the exact company, this is my butler, and an accomplice of ours, if that is the right word." The boy announced, his uncovered eye glaring at the doctor. "We would like to have a word with your son."
Aside, Arthur muttered; "We chose a dreadful time. Is there a moment when the father is not home?"
"What could you possibly want with such a fragile, weak boy?" Lock said aghast, pulling his son to him. Venice staggered back, looking to Zadig for help.
Zadig made no move, however, and continued to stare off to the side. His eyes gleamed as though caught up in a storm of inner turmoil.
"Dear Lock, my dear man, you poor, wretched soul. Your heart must quiver in your throat whenever you approach that delicate photo perched atop your armoire." Arthur began, striding forwards. Lock appeared to have been shocked into silence. "I know all of your secrets, Theodore Henry Lock. I know not what name you now go by, but that was the name your impoverished mother gave you shorter before her untimely death, leaving you thus to a father incapable of tending even to a plant."
"How do you-?!" Lock blustered, stepping back and letting go of Venice's shoulder—which he had been pinching tightly. Venice rubbed the afflicted shoulder.
Even Ciel and Sebastian seemed surprised by the abundant knowledge Arthur had of a man they were certain he had never seen before. Sebastian did not change his expression but focused more intently.
"I am not quite finished yet, Lock. I know of the time your father denied you the right to go to school. By that time he had drunk himself silly, so much so that you feared his veins had turned to liquor and his heart to the pure pleasure he aroused only when slinging some instrument of harm across your back. I believe you still have scars running all along it. And even when you had finally met someone who brought you great joy and made you smile warmly, it lasted for hardly more than the blooming time of a cherry blossom. She donned you this son, and so you—"
Lock cut Arthur short, jostling them into the living room. He looked positively sick with emotions, from bewilderment to the anger of having his privacy invaded so thoroughly. He gently pushed Venice into the room. "Yes!" He cried, "Go talk to him what you must, but say not a word more. Hector, bring my tea." He ordered, turning into his room.
"Hector…?" Ven said, seating himself weakly on the couch, covered in a shaggy throw-rug. Ciel sat heavily across from him, sided by Sebastian. Arthur sat in between them all, gritting his teeth and bowing so his rumpled blonde hair fell into his eyes.
Zadig nodded, "yes, my lord," and turned away to the kitchen to do so.
Arthur looked up, sneering. "You've whored yourself out, Dante!"
"Dante?" Venice repeated to himself in a mousy voice.
"I have not, Arthur," Dante, or Zadig, or as known now: Hector, replied. "I have only one duty in my deathless life, and that is to collect my meals. But now I have an order to fulfill, master." He said and set to brewing tea.
Arthur scoffed incredulously. "How asinine. He'll wear himself thin like this, trying to go under goodness knows how many masters."
"What I'd like to know," Ciel rounded on him, panting slightly in the exertion, "Is how you knew all of this about that man."
"You are not here to interrogate me, Phantomhive, I will explain in due time. But for now please direct your attention to our primary focus of the afternoon: young master Venice Lock."
Venice looked towards Ciel, smiling politely. "What did you wish to ask me?"
Ciel took shallow breathes, frowning painfully at the effort it sapped him to formulate the questions in his mind. His vision swayed out of focus. "Who are you, first off… And… how… how did you find your butler?"
"You're so terribly weak," Venice said, rising and holding out a hand. "Do you need to lie down?"
"No," Ciel batted the hand away, "I need for you to answer so I may return home and rest…" He swallowed dryly.
"I… Well, if that is what you want," Ven sat back down, looking dreadfully worried. "You see, I don't know how I acquired such a useful butler. All I remember is falling down after running away, before this I remember little of my past, and then an agreement, and then seeing the man obey my every whim and way."
Arthur looked on, ready to put in his input. Sebastian stopped him, looking on politely and asking in the most amiable voice; "Now, Kirkland, you knew all these facts about his father and yet you bring my ill master over here to do what you could do with half the effort?"
"No, it's not quite as simple as that. I need to see the person before I can read their past. Do you know what sort of blooming headache it would cause me to have all these lives in the entire history of England in my head? I need some space for other things as well." Arthur replied, hardly skipping a beat.
Sebastian looked away without responding.
"Then… explain…" Ciel bent down. Sebastian crowded over him, placing his hands on his master's back and trying to held him relax. Ciel felt as through a serpent had coiled itself around his lungs, constricting them with horrid glee. "Explain what this… saintly boy… has to do… with… us…"
"He has absolutely nothing to do with us," Arthur said. "Why, he's hardly even sick."