The Final solution Ch. II
"My lord, I believe I would be doing you a kindness in taking your soul right now, so please come here." I hold out a hand to him rather commandingly. I am rewarded with the sound of the decanter hitting the floor.
"Wh-what?"
"You heard me. The kindest thing I could do for you, not to mention everyone else in this cursed household, is take your soul right now, so please take your hand off that sherry decanter and come over here to me. Now."
"Psht! Don't be a bass, Ass-chun," he slurs, clucking his tongue, then pulling a face. "Sorry, that came out ... tongue's rafther fthick f'some schtrange reason."
Look at him: he can barely stand up, the silly creature...
"Looka ... looka what you made me do,"he mutters. "Schtupid demon," he is staring sadly at the spilt Napoleon puddling around his boots. He is listing gently from side to side, clinging to the sideboard for balance, staring at the carpet. He licks his lips thoughtfully and I see his knees give a fraction. BaalBerith's balls, I do believe he is seriously contemplating getting down on his noble hands and knees and sucking the alcohol straight out of the turkey rug—not that you couldn't safely eat-or in this case drink- off my floors, but I ask you: where has my proud master disappeared to?!
"Has a mere sprog of a girl frightened you to such an extent you would prefer becoming a fourteen year old drunk to telling her what you truly think of living "happily ever after" with a squealing pink dervish?"
Apparently the answer is 'yes' because all he does is peer at me owlishly. He makes a few odd twitches and head movements that look as though he's about to comment on my question but nothing comes out.
"Do you realise in three years time you could be as wide as you are tall and completely unable to walk?"
More wordless peering.
"Is it really easier for you to die of drinker's liver than simply tell the girl the truth?"
"Shu'rup, you. Aneewa-ay...'s'not like I could change anything...th'hell do you think I'm drinkin' for?" He makes a sort of 'pssh' noise at me, waves a dismissive hand in my direction, turns away quite unsteadily and, snatching the other decanter from the sideboard, weaves off more or less toward the grand staircase and, presumably, his bedroom.
I suppose every human has an 'Achilles' heel' of one kind or another, something they love, hate or fear to such an unreasonable extent they can be made to do things otherwise quite uncharacteristic for them. There's little doubt in my mind what shape my master's particular weakness takes. The same child I have seen face down rapists, Mafiosi, death gods-both sane and barmy-zombies, and demons, the child I've long since accepted as my master morphs into wet newsprint before this girl. I simply cannot comprehend it.
Then again, when I consider the mother...
With no other convenient vent for my frustrations I fling myself onto the dining table in a whirlwind of stacking, scraping and clearing, all the while deliberating over some effective plan of action for my master's situation. Quite soon I have all the detritus of the evening meal bundled into the dumbwaiter and bound for the pantry. Now if only Maylene isn't in such a drunken stupor by now that she cannot unload it and see to the cloth, dishes and leftovers it will be one less thing to worry over.
I find my master in his bedroom, sitting on the floor on the far side of the bed, his back propped against the bed post, still drinking, sadly staring out the window at the impenetrable dark. Since calls to his logic, his pride and his sense of shame have left him unmoved, I intend to now try a different tack. I sit down beside him on the floor and pretend to join him in his binge, taking the bottle from him momentarily. At the least it will get the alcohol out of his hands part of the time and slow down his consumption. With a bit of luck I can perhaps make one last attempt at talking some sense into him before it is too late.
"Your servants have resigned, my lord," I tell him, tipping the decanter back and pretending to take a long deep pull at the bottle.
"What?!"
"Bard, Maylene, Finny and even Tanaka have each approached me privately yesterday and resigned their positions effective immediately."
"Even Tanaka?!"he staggers to his feet, profoundly shocked. "What the hell for?'
"What do you imagine the reason to be, my Lord?"
"But... but why the hell didn't you try to stop them?"
"Stop them!? My Lord, I wish to join them."
"You—you wish to..." He blinks hard at me and then sits back down on the floor hard. I am actually glad to see this: at least something matters to him. Nothing else seems to. "Are you leaving me, then? Are all my servants leaving me?"
I scrub my fingers through my hair because I can't the grab the child and shake him as I am aching to, and I simply must do something. These fingers of mine are dying to tear something up. My hair will simply have to do for now.
"I persuaded them to give me one last opportunity to try and work something out with you. If not, then perhaps you will soon be here alone, my Lord, yes."
His face drains of all colour. I let that sink in a moment before delivering the killing blow: "But take heart, my Lord. You won't be alone for long. Very soon now you will have your darling fiancée Elizabeth at your side, every single minute of every day from now on, for the rest of your very long life. And who knows? Perhaps your aunt Frances will move in too, to save you from your native disorderliness and keep you safe."
"Keep me safe, safe from what?!"
"Ah hah hah. How quickly my Lord forgets. Do not imagine for a moment that the previous attacks perpetrated on this manor and your person won't start back up once word gets around that your formerly formidable, deadly servants have left you en masse. Perhaps you will have reason to be glad the Midfords are all so proficient with the sword. You may wish to invite the entire family to move in with you, even Miss Elizabeth's brother."
"Oh no, not him too..." The child groans and curls up on the floor cradling his head in his hands."Give me back the damned sherry, Sebastian."
"No."
Now!" he demands.
"My Lord, listen to me—"
"You can't leave me Sebastian, that's an order! We have a deal!"
"I certainly can render this contract void if I wish to, Ciel, and I am seriously considering it, because frankly, not even your soul is worth this!"
"Wanker," he mutters.
" My Lord look at me, I am wearing a pink bonnet! The child will have me in a corset and a frilly knickers by the end of the week at this rate! For a girl who grew up with an older brother do you not agree she has a seriously disordered concept of gender differences!? I could not bear watching what will happen to you should you permit this girl to become a permanent part of this household."
"Dunno what you're on about."
I shake the decanter of sherry before his face. "This. This is what I'm on about: It's already starting to happen and I can tell you, Ciel Phantomhive, I want nothing more than to walk out that door and leave you to it, since it's what you've chosen. I am not obligated to stay and watch you destroy yourself—nor her either, for that matter, because you cannot think for a moment that limply going along with their wishes and marrying the girl is going to lead to anyone's genuine happiness. Not even Miss Elizabeth is so delusional as to continue lying to herself about your feelings when she arrives on the other side of those vows and realises your distain for her has not changed one whit. And while it's true your soul will be improved by the sheer anguish you will endure when she turns into her mother and starts tormenting you day and night for duping her, I assure you I would have no appetite for it, nor for witnessing any of it." I took another mimed swig and retained the bottle, turning to fix him with my steeliest of glares so he is in no way allowed to think I am anything but deadly serious, because in fact, I am.
"So, my lord, I am here one last time, to beg you. Beg you, Ciel. If you cannot bring yourself to do something about all this, then give me the order: permit me the freedom to act in your behalf to stop this marriage so it is no longer looming over us all like some matrimonial sword of Damocles, poised to ruin you and everything you hold dear."
He is silent for a long time. So long I am on the verge of giving up and getting up to leave—and I mean truly leave. I was only sitting there deciding where to go first once I'd got through the boy's door when I heard the tiniest of small voices say softly "You can't kill her, Sebastian. I forbid it."
"My Lord," I tell him tiredly, "as much as I would enjoy killing her, as much as we all would," I say, thinking of Bard, "I am very aware of your feelings regarding Miss Elizabeth. I give you my word: I was not and will not entertain any ideas involving anyone's death."
More's the pity, I thought, though some may well be moved to attempt homicide when I've finished with them. Or suicide.
