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The dining room of the luxury liner was abustle with bodies wrapped in the finest examples of the modern fashion. There was a jazz band in the far corner from the entrances and a sea of swarming "flappers" writhing around one another on the small dance floor. Sebastian and Menefer were already seated at a large round table at the opposite corner from the band and Ciel couldn't help thinking that somehow he looked terribly out-of-place there, lounging at a table with a beautiful woman. He'd only ever known Sebastian to be a servant, and seeing him being served somewhat bristled Ciel's nerves. He supposed he had no choice but to accept this abrupt change in roles for the demon-he would always be Ciel's butler-but to the outside world, Sebastian was now a businessman. And he fit the part as easily as he fit the roll of butler, or tutor, or musician.
Lizzie had her hand looped casually through Ciel's crooked arm and they made their way across the dining room to the table Sebastian had reserved. Ciel wondered vaguely if onlookers assumed he was Lizzie's son. He supposed that was another thing he had no control over, and it was probably for the best. Menefer spotted them first and waved cheerfully and Sebastian rose and pulled out two chairs for them. Ciel saw that Lizzie was seated comfortably and took the seat next to hers. Paula bumbled into the dining room shortly after and made her way to their table, only to inform them that she wasn't feeling well and would take her dinner in her room. She pointed a crooked finger at Elizabeth and narrowed her eyes, but didn't say a word, and left in the same clumsy bumbling manner in which she had arrived.
"What was all that about?" Ciel asked, not particularly caring for the answer he felt was coming.
"That was her, 'I'm watching you' finger," Elizabeth explained, a smile on her face. "She was telling me to behave myself. She's done that for the last thirty years."
"My lord," Sebastian piped in, "speaking of behavior-what would you like to do once we make port in New Orleans? As far as public perception goes, that is?"
"I suppose it would be prudent to pass me off as your son, considering the social circles you are bound to encounter... As for Lizzie and Menefer, I honestly have no idea."
"Pass me off as a servant, Sebastian," Lizzie suggested. "I do not look enough like Ciel to pass for his mother, but Menefer may be able. I have no qualms about doing dishes and the like."
Ciel turned his eye toward her with a look of absolute disbelief. She laughed. "Truly. I've done more of Paula's job in the last few years than she has. I don't mind at all."
"Of all the things I never thought I'd hear..." he mumbled, then turned his attention to the priestess. "Do you understand any of this?" he asked point-blank.
"Yes. I understand. I will be your mother to those who do not know us."
"Your speech has come along remarkably fast. I commend you."
"Thank you, my lord Ciel," she beamed, and even Sebastian looked a little surprised at Ciel's praise. "Marcus says I am doing well. If I keep talking in your English, then I will continue to improve. I want to speak nothing but English. I speak it to myself. I speak it in my sleep. I will be perfect soon. I will not fail you, my lord Ciel!"
Ciel looked at "Marcus" and said, "Reminds me something of Prince Soma."
"My lord, Ciel?"
"Menefer, why not just call me Ciel? I can't very well be your 'lord' if I'm your son, now can I?"
"Yes. Ciel. I can do this."
"Good... Mum."
That earned a hearty chuckle from both Lizzie and Sebastian. When the smiles died down and wine was ordered for Menefer and Lizzie, and the band had started playing less upbeat jazz and more classical, ballroom style music, Elizabeth leaned into the table and asked Menefer, "Marcus? Is that what you called our Sebastian when you knew him?"
"Marcus is who he was when I knew him," she replied, matter-of-factly. "I met him first when he marched into Thebes with the Roman Legion."
Elizabeth's eyes were as wide as saucers and she stared mutely at the priestess across the table. Sebastian leaned back in his chair-probably the most relaxed Ciel had ever seen him-with a bemused grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, content to let Menefer weave her tales of their past.
"This was before Roman rule actually began in Egypt, mind you," Sebastian pointed out. "That was around 30 B.C. I think my legion may have been the first Romans in Egypt; certainly the first that Menefer had ever seen. We were part of a scouting party that went horribly wrong... I should also add that I was contracted to the Legion General at the time and by 'horribly wrong' I mean of course, that I was... involved, to say the least."
Menefer took a sip of wine and continued. "I was an orphan. I stole to survive. The common law in Egypt was that if you could steal and not be captured, you kept whatever you had taken. It made no matter if it was a loaf of bread or a diamond the size of your fist. But if you were caught, the victim could determine your punishment. Many of my brethren died for loaves of bread..." she trailed off sadly and took another swallow of wine. "I suppose I was lucky when I was caught. I was beaten and exiled. Marcus found me on the side of the road. He stared hard at me when they marched by. I was broken and near death. He returned in the middle of the night and took me to a temple..."
Every eye at the table was on Sebastian at that point, but the grin had been replaced by a frown at the memory and while Lizzie was certain to believe that this demon Legionnaire turned butler had a soft heart and concern where others were wronged, Ciel knew she was sorely mistaken. Ciel knew that the demon had not developed that particular soft spot until he was summoned in New Orleans in the late 18th century and all because of a girl named Cybille. During Menefer's life, he was brutal and merciless and the only reason he'd saved her initially was because he thought he could use her. And while it was likely that Menefer had figured this out on her own, there was always the possibility that she'd never known and Ciel was not about to point that fact out to the common company.
"The temple priest took me in and Marcus gave him enough gold to provide for me until I was old enough to serve the goddess. I started young, of course. Marcus was not in Egypt long. I remember the day he came to tell the priest he was leaving. I was nine. It had been half a year since he had left me with Ankhshunamun {Ankh-sa-hoonAh-moon}. He gave the priest more gold and said he would be back in a year..."
He told himself she was worth something as he stole out of the encampment, throwing his cape back over the opposite shoulder so that it wrapped him against the chill night air. He muttered to himself as he trekked back down the sandy path where he'd spotted her earlier in the day. She had been near death then; perhaps he was wasting his time trying to save her now. Maybe she'd be dead when he got there, and he could feel the fool for a few moments, and sneak back into his camp with no one the wiser.
He spotted her limp form half-buried in the sand, several meters off the side of the road. Powerful legs made quick work of the steep drop-off and loose sand as he made his way to her. She was a child, eight or nine, a lovely little creature with her mop of black curls and skin the color of a sandstorm. Reaching down, he pushed her over so her face was pointed at the stars and carefully wrapped his fingers around her neck searching for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there and he pulled the waterskin off the leather belt around his hips and dribbled the liquid over her mouth. After a few drops, a tiny pink tongue reached out and licked cracked dry lips. He poured a steadier stream and her eyes fluttered open, searching the night for the bearer of this gift. Her eyes met his briefly and she raised her head enough to take the waterskin into her mouth. After several desperate gulps, she sickened and turned her head and wretched in the sand. "Slowly, little one," Marcus mumbled, helping her sit up and handing the waterskin to her. She blinked at him, not understanding the Latin coming from his lips. She said something in her own tongue that he didn't recognize, and took the skin and up-ended it, swallowing a couple of times, then lowered it into her lap breathing heavily. He assumed she was trying to bully her way past the nausea, as a child would. To her credit, she didn't wretch again, and eventually she emptied the skin and handed it back to him sheepishly. She muttered something else, and this time he knew what she'd said.
"Thank you."
It didn't take him long to assess her injuries. She had a broken hand, likely from being beaten with a staff or rod, and multiple bruises ranging from green-yellow to ruby red and starting to blacken. Her arms and legs were covered in them, and she looked as if she hadn't had a solid meal in her entire life. Huge eyes were dwarfed by protruding cheekbones and the bones in her shoulders and neck were prominent and fragile looking. Still, she was a lovely imp, no matter how sickly and filthy she appeared.
He'd brought a small blanket out with him and he tossed it over her shoulders and helped her to stand, carefully avoiding her broken hand. She asked a question again, the same one she'd asked before that he didn't understand. He shook his head at her, his blank gaze telling her he didn't know what she was trying to tell him. She smiled a little and gestured to the heavens, holding her arms out wide, and quickly brought them together, pointing at him. "Am I from there?" and he mimed her actions. She nodded and finally said a word in her language that he understood: "God."
The Temple of Isis was inside the borders of the great city of Thebes and as such, Marcus was forced to smuggle the child back inside the city. It wouldn't have been a difficult task for the lowliest of the low and he made quick work of it, even making the child giggle in excitement in the process, leaping the city wall and bypassing guards in a blur. While he moved, he was concentrating on the language she had spoken. One of his gifts was languages and he could use his abilities to learn a new one in less than moments. He knew he would need to master it by the time he got to the temple.
There was a great sea of sand between the wall and where civilization began with lotus ponds and promenades. There was no one in sight except the occasional guard and Marcus made the trip all the quicker with his supernatural speed-and for some reason, that thrilled the little girl on his back to no end.
He didn't mind that he was only enforcing her belief that he was a deity In fact, he intended to encourage that belief. The more power she believed he possessed, the easier his control over her would be in the future.
Her good hand clung to his shoulder while her broken hand bounced limply with his movements. It was swelling before his eyes and the color was darkening from red to black. He needed to get her to the temple where the priests could see to her healing before parts of her became useless. He had to confess, her bravery (or maybe it was stupidity) was admirable at least. She hadn't muttered a single syllable of complaint, even with a crushed hand hanging from her little wrist. Perhaps the damage was so bad, she didn't feel the pain, he mused as he finally caught sight of their destination...
Ciel dutifully saw Elizabeth back to her cabin and stood just outside the entrance as she opened the door and peered in the darkness to see if Paula was there. The older woman was snoring up a storm on the bed on the far side of the room. Lizzie dropped her clutch and shawl on the chair just inside the door and turned back to Ciel, letting the door close most of the way behind her. She smiled down at him and the fact that his facial expression hadn't changed in the last three and a half hours seemed to make her smile even more. "Thank you for tonight, Dearest," she whispered, green eyes shining like beacons in the dim light of the corridor.
"Of course," he replied, in his usual gruff manner and it didn't deter her grin in the least.
She was happy, of course, for so many reasons; and her attitude was definitely on the up due to all the mysteries and adventure unfolding around her and, finally, involving her. Still, she supposed, there was something dreadfully wrong with her if she was thinking the things she'd been lately, about a boy who looked not a day over thirteen, even if he was the same age as her in mind, if not in appearance. And, no doubt, the nearly entire bottle of wine she'd consumed at dinner probably wasn't helping her inhibitions, either. But to Ciel's credit, when she leaned down and pressed her mouth against his, he didn't flinch. He didn't gasp, or curse, or seem otherwise inclined to push her away. In fact, his pliable little mouth opened under hers and he let her take her fill of him, till she pulled away, breathless and reeling. She'd never in her life been kissed properly, she realized suddenly. The shock must have shown on her face.
"Are you alright, Elizabeth?" Ciel asked, completely nonchalantly, as if a thirteen year old boy and a forty-five year old woman should always kiss one another so passionately in the hallways of luxury liners.
Her hand was over her mouth now, but she nodded. "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so forward-"
"As much as it pains me to admit this aloud... Lizzie, while I think both of us are probably insane because we are harboring the same fantasies, I cannot tell you that I do not enjoy it. I do not think it is healthy for you, particularly, to act on these fantasies-at least..." he cleared his throat conspicuously "...not in public. So while I ...liked... what happened a moment ago, I cannot condone anymore of it until we are in New Orleans, at least."
Elizabeth found herself nodding at the earl, and reaching behind her, grasped the doorknob. "You are absolutely right, Ciel."
With a goodnight whispered between them, she retreated into her cabin with the sleeping maid, and Ciel turned on his heel and made his way to his own room. To any onlooker he passed, he looked the little lord earl, stern and cold. But he didn't feel his feet hit the floor.