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I think I'm saying this every chapter I upload a chapter: BUT I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT I ACTUALLY FINISHED IT. This particular asshole annoyed me to no end since April. BUT NOW IT'S DONE, YEY.
It's, uh, also very, very long. (19,668 words; I'm so sorry.)
Your unspoken question: Why didn't you just split this chapter? Why are you throwing this brick at us? Who has the time to read this?
My answer: Robert Jordan's motto while writing the "final" Wheel of Time novel was "no matter how long it will get, there will only be one more instalment!" And then he died and Brandon Sanderson had to take over and split the "final" novel into three. Well, in the end, I didn't die, and my sister or so didn't have to complete this, but whatever...
I'm very sorry for taking so long; this chapter just wouldn't work, and I had to start again and again... That's why it says "5.0" in the title.
On a different note: I allowed myself to make three tiny changes to some older chapters.
1. In Ch16, Cloudia originally referred to Oscar as "Chief Detective Superintendent Livingstone" which DOES NOT MAKE ANY SENSE considering the fact that Scotland Yard's detective branch was formed in August 1842 - many years after Oscar stopped working there - and because the title of "chief superintendent" was first introduced in 1949. (Why didn't I check ThreeYearsAgo!Me's nonsense before writing this chapter. Why)
2. I gave a character a fixed birthday, but in some chapter, his age was given. However, according to his birth date, he shouldn't be as old at that time as it was stated. So, I just adjusted his age a bit.
3. And then there's this little shitty thing which took me years to find...
"Your real task was to blow up this place," Flavian Hunt said the chapter before he said that he should not blow up the villa. -.-
Like, I guess I meant some other definition of "blow up" in the first sentence, but, honestly… -.-
Well, I've already talked long enough... so...
I hope you enjoy this very long chapter even though it's shit and not satisfying at all...
Chapter Twenty:
The Countess, Faint and Low 5.0
"...but that does not mean that it's unconquerable."
Somewhere, England, United Kingdom – April 1848
~Cloudia~
I woke up retching, gasping for air. I woke up not knowing where I was.
And it terrified me to my very bones.
My lungs were burning, my body cold and shaking – it felt as if I had nearly drowned, but had somehow found the strength to fight my way back to the surface.
Even though I was now back at the surface, back in reality, in the here and now, there was this terrible fear that, every moment, I could be pulled back again into the darkness.
But not only fear had waited for me at the surface.
There was also relief – complete, absolute relief that I was back. That, once again, I had found my way back. That, once again, I had not got stuck in a place that was even unknown to me. To be imprisoned in this strange place forever was the greatest of my fears.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, pushing away my fear.
I was here. I was here…
Still shaky, still trying to catch her breath, Cloudia slowly sat up and leaned against a wall. Her head was spinning, her body heating up. It was hard to focus, but she still forced herself to concentrate on the wall opposite her and ask herself: How did I get here?
The Aristocrats' Bureau. The bickering for me to go and ride out.
The forest. Falada, the flowers. The hands around my throat. The world falling into blackness.
The dungeon, the Witch's Castle. The lying prisoners. The gardener Axel, Manon, the food.
The labyrinth, the letter. Leon.
The so-called "monsters" and the realisation that the labyrinth did not really exist.
Axel. The rifle.
Me heading towards the castle.
And then, and then…
Cloudia sighed and closed her eyes, concentrating on the events again, but no matter how often she walked down that path, it only ever gave away to nothingness.
This wasn't the first time something like this had happened.
I was four years old when it happened for the first time, but I seven when I realised that there was something very, very wrong with me. When I realised that I didn't just uncontrollably vanish into a strange darkness every now and then, but that, every time, I went there, a piece of me got lost beneath the surface.
At that time, it had taken me a while to process what had happened, but after I had understood I had started to ask myself "How did I get here?" every time it happened again in the hope that, one day, I was able to repair my broken memory lane.
But that day was not today; it had not been all the other days when I had lost myself, and I wondered if that day was ever to come. Still, despite the doubts, despite the passing of a decade, I caught myself hoping and wishing for the impossible.
Frustrated, Cloudia reopened her eyes and examined herself: The makeshift bandage around her left arm was still there, but her brown prisoner clothes were covered in blood although she wasn't wounded anywhere else but on her left arm – and the bleeding there had stopped a long while ago. Also, while her clothes were stained, there was no blood on her hands.
If this wasn't my blood and if, apparently, this wasn't the blood of anyone I had killed either, how else did I get so dirty?
Cloudia tilted her head back, looking up at the ceiling and releasing a deep sigh before, once again, listing everything that had happened up to now. This time, however, Cloudia's focus was not to restore the piece of the road she had lost to the darkness, but to examine the details of the events she could remember as thoroughly as it was possible with a terrible headache and tired bones.
I had been at the Aristocrats' Bureau with Cedric and the others. I had wanted to talk about the case, focus solely on the case, but they hadn't allowed it. Time had been wasted on introductions and bickering, and then, they had sent me away to ride out.
And deep in the forest, one of Manon's goons had subdued me and brought me to this so-called Witch's Castle.
But how had they known? How could they have known that I would be at this very place in this very second?
No, I had a better question: How could the others have known when to send me away?
"Goddammit, Oscar," Cloudia groaned, and her words turned into an echo in the empty corridor.
This bastard – couldn't he have chosen a better test and a better moment to test Cedric?! No, it had to be on Father's death anniversary. No, it had to involve this hell house.
If only I had chosen a riding route other than my regular one…
Cloudia ran a hand through her dirty hair before pressing her palm against her forehead. Her skin was hot as if she had a fever, but she did not feel particularly feverish, only sore and tired. Cloudia took a deep breath and counted from ten downwards before carefully getting up, her body creaking underneath its own weight, stiff as it was.
She looked around and searched in her clothes to see if she still had the weapons she had gathered.
Axel's odd rifle and his gun were gone, and all I had left were two darts. Two darts to get to Manon, get back my necklace, and yell at Cedric to hurry up; he had already taken long enough.
I hid one dart in my clothes and took the other into my hand and set off.
To hell with this night. I could not wait for it to finally find its end.
~Cedric~
The last time Cedric Rossdale had been on horseback, he had been alive. It wasn't a time he was very proud of – or at all – and now, the wind in his hair and ears, the horse's smell, and the familiar galloping brought back all the unpleasant memories he had spent so long burying. Before they could fully come back, dig themselves out of their mental grave, Cedric pushed them away and tried focusing his mind on the task at hand: finding Cloudia.
The forest surrounding Phantomhive Manor covered a great area and Cedric would, most likely, need days to find Cloudia in here – if she was even inside the forest. But he didn't have days to find her, and, luckily, he didn't need that long anyway because, to his absolute relief, Cloudia hadn't forgotten to take her skull pendant necklace with her.
The first thing Cedric had found out about the necklaces after getting them had been their communicative ability. Afterwards, with further examination, he had been able to – well, at least, marginally – discover why they could do what they did and what more they were able to do because of that:
Often, people perceived skulls to look the same even though they were just as unique as anything else nature had produced. At first glance, the skull pendants had looked the same to Cedric as well, had seemed to be nothing but copies of each other, but after a while, he had realised that they actually looked rather different. But, despite the skulls' differences, they could be perfectly joined together at the back as if they were two parts of one big whole like the sides of a coin. For some reason, however, no matter how often or how hard Cedric tried, the halves would not stay together, would always fall apart as soon as you let go.
Although the two halves could not join, there was something invisible connecting them – and this strange connection was the reason why the wearers could use it to communicate with each other.
And to find each other.
Ignoring the rain falling upon him, Cedric rode through the forest and concentrated on the pendant resting against his chest, concentrated on the invisible connection between the two skull pendants which pulled him closer and closer to Cloudia – and lead him to a castle far, far away.
~Cloudia~
When I had been in the "labyrinth," I had been convinced to be surrounded by walls. By endless corridors and by silence. I had not even felt or smelt the rain falling upon me.
And now, while wandering through the castle, a constricting uneasiness rushed through my body.
Because, just like the maze, the castle was not what it had seemed to be.
Before, when Cloudia had been guided to Manon by Axel, the Witch Castle's corridors had glimmered in gold and rubies. Now, with the illusion stripped away, the walls were grey and cracked, the floor dusty and dirty. And – worst of all – the castle's atmosphere had completely shifted into something hard to grasp, into something giving her goose bumps.
There were many possibilities for how I had come to see things which were not there.
One of them was that something had been in the grapes I'd eaten; another was that I had been injected with something. But none of these hypotheses could be true: After all, I had seen the castle's apparent splendour even before I had stepped into the dining hall; after all, I had not been able to find any kind of needle-induced wound on myself.
I doubted that it had been a spell that had turned the castle to gold and the courtyard into a labyrinth – or, at least, that Manon had been the one to cast it. And if it had been indeed a spell, who was the true "witch" that had chanted it upon?
What was really going on here?
No matter how carefully she moved, Cloudia's steps rang too loudly in her own ears, created a painful echo blowing through the corridors.
With every step, the uneasiness inside her grew, and with it the feeling that she was being watched…
But what if my mind was playing tricks on me again? What if my steps were silent, what if the castle's current state was just as much of a lie as its previous one?
Who said that I had truly managed to break free from all illusions?
Not being able to rely on any of your senses was a frightening thing indeed. Especially combined with the circumstance that I did not know what had happened to me in the timespan between approaching the castle and waking up covered in blood.
And whose blood was it anyway?
And then, as if to answer her question, the smell of metal intensified.
It had taken her a while to catch it, having got used to it due to the blood sticking to her. But now, so close to the source, the smell was burning in her nostrils and Cloudia had to fight the urge to vomit.
A terrible premonition set forth in her mind – and when she turned around two more corners, it turned out to be right:
There was a staircase.
And leading up to it was a sea of red – not unlike the one that had tried to swallow her up in the illusionary maze.
But it was not made up of water.
Not of waves and never-ending darkness.
Instead, it was made of blood and rows and rows of corpses. Corpses, shredded to pieces and laid back together. Corpses with torn throats and faces and empty eye-sockets. With bite and scratch marks all over their bodies.
They had been slaughtered and ruined – and still, Cloudia could make out Kelia's red hair, Levi's unnerving grin forever fixed on his face, Evander's bloodlined eyes staring into nowhere, and she felt sick and tightened her grip on the dart.
What the hell had happened here?
Cloudia waited until her heart had calmed down a bit before she found her way through the sea of blood. She counted the bodies, twenty-three in total, and, in her head, she named all she could: Elliot Raven, Jessalyn Adler, Robena Stout, Adair Gregory… And while Cloudia looked around, she noticed that some of the bodies were more rotten than the others and less gruesomely battered: There was a young boy with a cut throat (Charles), a girl with the same wound (Sonya), and a young man with a head injury (Stephen). Some of the bodies were not even bodies anymore, but bones morbidly pieced together.
She didn't dare to breathe through her nose, had to endure the taste of blood on her tongue instead. With her free hand, Cloudia buried her thumb's nail into the middle section of her middle finger, fighting the feeling of nausea and forcing herself to kneel down next to the corpses and run her eyes over the bodies.
The first oddity that caught her eye was the fact that the prisoners didn't seem to have been killed by any kind of weapons. No blades, no guns, no heavy objects. The only exceptions were Charles and Sonya but they had been killed long before the other ones.
The second oddity was that the latest dead ones all had blood on their hands, all had torn or missing fingernails. Some had blood on their teeth, but, as far as Cloudia could see, weren't missing any teeth. Had they fought against someone – or something – and lost or…
…or had they attacked one another?
With horror creeping up her spine, Cloudia rolled back to her feet and went straight to the staircase.
What in the world could make a group of people suddenly turn against and rip apart one another like this?
And was it still within these walls?
~Cedric~
Cedric tied Falada to a tree a few hundred metres away from the castle.
"I am sorry that I don't have a treat for you," he said while stroking the horse. "But I will come back with the Countess – I promise."
Falada huffed, and Cedric headed towards the strange castle lying alone in the middle of the forest. He walked alongside the walls framing the courtyard and noticed the deep cracks in the stone and the wild tangles of ivy crawling over it. Cedric surrounded the entire castle, but, to his surprise, he could not find a single door or some other opening.
I guessed the lack of doors must have been the reason why the castle had been promptly abandoned and the architect fired.
"Well, then," Cedric mumbled to himself before returning to the walls around the courtyard and jumping over them, nearly slipping on the wet stone. On the other side, he straightened and looked around. Outside, the castle and its walls seemed to be about to be swallowed by nature. On this side, however, there was nothing but blood that was washed away by the rain and a male corpse that laid close to the castle's seemingly only door.
Of course.
Cedric walked to the door, and for a moment, he stared down at the body and wondered who or what had been able to tear the limbs from his torso before all his thoughts were pushed away by a sudden, blood-freezing realisation.
Grim Reapers. Corpses always indicated lurking-around Grim Reapers.
Taking his eyes off the broken man, Cedric stepped over him to enter the castle – only to be met by a corridor and a room painted by blood but void of corpses.
This wasn't good. A few dead could be handled by only one Reaper, but dozens? Hundreds? There was no way to estimate how many had died in here and to know whether or not there were more corpses strewn across the castle, but I was sure that this place was swarming with Grim Reapers.
And if they found out that I was here, my partnership with Cloudia might be in jeopardy.
Cloudia.
Holding his breath, Cedric took out his Death Book and thumbed frantically through the pages, hoping to see nothing but rows and rows of unfamiliar names. And when he indeed could not find Cloudia's name, Cedric sighed in relief and pocketed the journal.
If she had died today, I would have definitely broken the Grim Reaper rules and killed Oscar Livingstone.
Cedric examined the corridor and the room, rain dripping from his hair and clothes, but there was nothing but blood everywhere and the corridor led to a dead end; to his surprise, however, the wall to which the corridor led was the only wall that was not stained in blood. This left the door leading back to the courtyard as the only entrance.
With other Grim Reapers crawling around, I could not teleport or retrieve my scythe without them noticing it. So, for now, all I could do was to go back outside and try to find another way into the castle without accidentally running into any of my colleagues.
What a fun night indeed.
~Cloudia~
I was wandering around for a considerable period of time now.
I was afraid to take a step, afraid to even breathe. Everything seemed too loud to my ears.
Should someone not have heard me by now? Should I have not crossed paths with someone by now?
The prisoners were dead, and Manon and her servants could have escaped a long time ago. There could be nobody in this castle anymore – nobody but the corpses and me…
But, but…
Cloudia knew better than to panic now – panic played tricks to your mind and made movements clumsy – but she was exhausted, her head still hurt, and the probability was high that, in this very moment, a monster, as real as one could be, was lurking around in these corridors.
No, no, no, I couldn't start to panic. I needed to be ready to face the "monster."
This monster… this person… this creature…
This…
Cloudia held her breath.
What… what if whatever was responsible for the carnage downstairs wasn't a "thing"? What if it was something intangible?
What if something was in the air?
It would make sense for the air to be poisoned. It would make sense for the air to be poisoned. Itwouldmakesensefortheairtobepoisoned…
No, no, no.
It was one thing that poisoned air, that certain gases and substances could cause hallucinations.
It was an entirely different thing for a gas to be able to manipulate people into tearing one another apart.
It didn't work like that. Itdidnotworklikethat…
Cloudia massaged her temples. So far, she had been involved in all of Oscar's "tests," had always thought that Barrington's had been the worst, but this one had already surpassed Barrington's.
I couldn't imagine Oscar to have known about the hallucinations, about the potential monster though. The other two "tests" had been crazy and dangerous, but never like this.
Cloudia softly shook her head and looked around to divert her thoughts from this subject, to find something else she could focus on, and ultimately settled on some portraits covered in cobwebs.
How must the castle have been like, once upon a time, when it was filled with life? When it was someone's home? When the ornate pillars were shining in all their grace, when the portraits were hanging dignifiedly on the walls, and the beautifully engraved furniture was flawless and not abandoned to dust?
What had happened to this place for it to become like it was now? Did it really belong to the von Brandts or to someone else?
How far was I from the manor? How far was I from home? I knew the forest around it and never had I come across a place like this one.
The exhaustion and headache pulled at Cloudia's strength. She rubbed her face and tried to convince her body not to shut down just now even if some part of her whispered to sit down and close her eyes for just a second, just a second… But she couldn't sleep now when something terrible might still be arou-
And then, she heard it: steps. And they were approaching her.
Like a cloak thrown away, the sleepiness fell away from Cloudia and the panic pumping through her veins was mostly pushed away by her fighter's instinct. She tightened her grip on the dart and, despite everything, a grin appeared on her lips.
"Hello," Cloudia said, still smiling, when the butler came into sight. For a wing beat, relief washed over her and then, she lunged forward.
She only had to stab the dart anywhere into his flesh. Anywhere was fine. Anywhere was the difficulty. Cloudia pretended to move right – and shifted to the left in the last second.
The butler flinched away, but he was too slow. She rammed the dart into his left arm and jumped back.
Cloudia looked up at him. The butler stared first at the dart and then at her in confusion.
Nothing happened.
He did not fall asleep.
A curse threatened to escape Cloudia's throat. It died down when the butler threw himself at her, blade shining. A clumsy movement. Still, Cloudia barely dodged it, and he could tear open the wound on her arm. She had been too distracted by the blade's familiar golden glimmer.
Cloudia stumbled to the right, collided with the wall. Before the butler could lunge at her again, she managed to push herself off the wall. He stabbed into nothing; she moved behind him and took hold of the dart. She pushed the dart deeper into his flesh, pushed the butler's right side against the wall. Concrete crumbled from it.
He cried out, tried to break free – Cloudia ripped out the dart. It had become all slippery with blood, nearly gliding out of her hand. The adrenaline started to tire her out; heat flushed through her. Cloudia fought both back, held on to the dart, twisted the butler's right arm against his back.
The butler cried out again. She pushed him face-forward against the wall. The smell of blood and sweat made her nauseous. The butler's pained cries ran needles into her head. Cloudia faltered for a split second; the butler tried to push himself away from the wall – she rammed the dart through the twisted-back hand, pierced it to the flesh beneath.
He screamed, waved about with the dagger. Blindly. Uncoordinatedly. Cloudia tore the dagger out of his hand and away, got cut while doing so, and bend back his left arm as well. She pressed him harder against the wall. He whimpered.
"That… dagger," she breathed against his ear. The heat made her feverish, and she had to put all her concentration into not letting go of the butler, into not slipping away. "It's my father's. You aren't allowed to touch it." Cloudia turned the dart in its wound. Tears ran down the butler's cheeks.
"What happened to the prisoners? Answer me and I might let you go."
When he did not answer, she turned the dart again.
"I… I don't know," he pressed out.
"Then, tell me: where is Manon?"
"D… di…" He grimaced. "In the dining room."
"Good," Cloudia said, and stepped back, taking the dart with her and drawing yet another scream out of the butler's lungs. His hands fell loose to his sides. The butler turned around, his tear-streaked face displaying both agony and incredible relief.
Cloudia stabbed the dart through his throat and sliced downwards.
I had said that I might let him go, not that I would.
She stepped back, her body slowly cooling down a bit. The butler's corpse fell against the wall, and the smell of urine mixed with the biting, coppery smell of blood. Cloudia turned away and retched out nothing. She whipped her mouth with the back of her hand and bent down to pick up the dagger, dizziness briefly falling over her. Cloudia waited until it had passed before taking a closer look at the dagger. Blood was smeared all over it, and she cleaned it with a relatively untainted part of her dress. A few times, the dagger nearly slipped out of her still shaky hands, but when she could see the soft pattern of drops on the blade again, a smile hushed over her face.
It was good to have it back. Now, all I needed was my ring and necklace.
Suppressing another urge to vomit, Cloudia bound a new piece of cloth around her arm and went through the butler's clothes. Axel had carried a gun, and if a gun belonged to the regular equipment of Manon's servants… With a grin on her face, she retrieved a gun from one of his jacket pockets and checked it for bullets. There were still four in the cylinder. Cloudia continued checking through the butler's clothes and when she did not find any more munition, she pocketed the gun, held tight to the dagger, and went to find the dining room.
It shouldn't be too difficult to get back the skull pendant necklace and the ring from Manon. If she had them with her, I could just take it back without much effort. If she did not have them with her, it would undoubtedly be easy to find out where she hid them.
What was truly difficult was to find the dining room without crossing paths with the monster.
Or finding the room at all.
Before, Axel had led me there. Before, the castle had looked quite different. Before, we had taken a completely different path, as far as I knew. It could take me ages to find the dining room in this damn castle – and who said that, by the time I arrived, Manon would still be there?
I couldn't wait to talk to Oscar afterwards. And if Cedric could finally rapid up… I hoped, not only for me but for him as well, that he was not still chatting with Barrington and Cecelia in the Bureau, not suspecting anything.
It did not take long for Cloudia to hear yet another noise. Again, it came from around a corner, but this time, it wasn't steps.
Readying the dagger, Cloudia silently approached the corner and dared to take a quick look – only to find a tied-up and gagged Leon wriggling on the ground like a fish.
Cloudia knelt down next to him with a sigh. Immediately, Leon stopped wriggling and craned his head towards her. For a moment, his eyes widened before a scowl settled on his face.
"Why are you always tied-up when I meet you?" she asked and started to cut through the rope around his legs. "Who did this to you? Why did you run away? Do you still think the castle's golden and there's a labyrinth in the courtyard? Stop making these awful noises and moving around so much. I am going to remove the gag when I've finished to untie you; just be patient. And don't pretend that memorising a few questions is hard.
"Anyway – do you know what happened in here? Were you in the basement and saw the others? The other prisoners? Did you notice anything odd? Do you have any idea what is going on here? Any theories?" Cloudia continued, finally cutting through the rope and removing the gag.
Groaning and shaking, Leon rolled away, stood up, and leaned back against a wall, all while keeping his eyes on Cloudia. "Such idiotic questions to ask," he said, his scowl faltering. "After all, it was you who tied me up and disposed of me here. You who created that bloodbath."
~Cedric~
Eventually, Cedric had found a hidden door leading into the castle. And all he had needed to do was to meticulously tap off the walls while nearly being washed away by the rain. Now, Cedric finally stepped inside – and groaned when he saw that the door did not open to the ground floor, but to a staircase leading downwards.
Why.
Just why had someone turned this apparently once very ordinary and perfectly fine family home into a murder palace?
Cedric wrought out his hair and tied it back again before he closed the door behind him and everything was plunged into complete darkness. He waited for his eyes to adapt a bit to the dark and reached out to the closest wall, keeping one hand there while carefully climbing down the stairs.
Arriving in the basement, Cedric took a quick look around, but he could not find anything but old furniture and boxes of old clothes and toys. Then, he took the stairs up, and he had barely arrived on the ground floor when the familiar odour of blood and death reached his nostrils and threw him back.
Not everyone died peacefully in their sleep. I had reaped plenty of souls whose bodies had died in the most gruesome ways and had emitted the worst of smells. I had thought that, over the years, I had got used to it, but every new reaping, every new death brought its own surprises.
I wondered if I would ever get used to the smell of death.
Pinching his nose and letting go every few steps, Cedric wandered towards the source of this terrible smell. Judging from its intensity, it must belong to a bloodbath. Cedric was not particularly eager to find the smell's source and, thus, would never try to find it if bloodbaths and Phantomhives didn't often go hand in hand – and if the necklace wasn't pulling him towards the same direction, confirming this rule.
After a few more turns, Cedric found himself standing in front of a field of morbidly arranged corpses and the smell and sight threw him back in time for one short, dreadful moment before he could pull himself back and seal away the memory again.
He did not dare to breathe while walking carefully around the bodies, did not dare to look at them again, and kept his gaze fixed on the staircase in front of him. Cedric was just about to set one foot on the first stair when he heard a faint groan behind him.
With closed eyes, he counted from ten downwards, waited until his heart stopped beating so loudly. Then, Cedric turned around and listened with the little hope that his mind had played him a trick and that he, in fact, had not heard anyth…
Another groan.
Cedric went to the direction of the muffled, slowly fading groans until he eventually knelt down next to a young woman. She was badly bruised, her left arm was lying in an unnatural position, and her skin was covered in bite marks. Her right arm was pressed against a wound on her stomach, blood seeping through her fingers. There was nothing Cedric could do; all he did was to watch the light slowly going out of her dark brown eyes, watch her body going limp, and wait for the room to be refilled with silence. His fingers shook a bit when he closed the woman's eyes, and they still shook when he retrieved his scythe.
"What are you doing here?" said a voice, interrupting Cedric before he could collect the woman's soul. He looked up and right into the displeased face of Edmund Oxley.
Edmund Oxley – of all Reapers I could encounter it had to be the one who hated me the most.
"I," Cedric started, forcing a smile on his face, "was sent to help you collect all these souls. They only told me that there were many – too many for a single Reaper to handle – and where I had to go. I didn't know that you would be here. Hi, Eddie, long time no see: how are you doing?"
Edmund scowled at him. "First, they sent me here all on my own to collect that many souls; then, they sent you of all people to help me. And you're even completely wet!"
"It's raining and I got lost on the way," Cedric replied, but Edmund ignored him, going on as if he had never spoken.
"I think I need to talk to the Administration Division. Their choices get poorer and poorer every day. The decades are damaging their brains.
"Also, you're late. There are only a few souls left to collect. I don't need your help anymore," Edmund said, stepping forward, collecting the woman's soul with his brush trimmer, and activating her Cinematic Record. Cedric glimpsed at Cloudia appearing in the record before it was abruptly cut off, and Edmund pressed the "No remarks" stamp to the woman's journal page.
"And because I don't need your help anymore, Rossdale," continued Edmund, pocketing his journal, "you can go back to the Dispatch now. Goodbye. It wasn't a pleasure to see you again."
Cedric put back his Death Scythe and stood up. "Oh, considering the situation, I think I should stay with you. After all, it seems like some kind of monster is wandering around. The corpses look horrible – as if they had been attacked by a wild animal or a monster. Any idea for what it could have been? An angry dwarf wanting his gold back? A banshee wanting to try something new? A lost kelpie which forgot its purpose? A hungry werewolf? A very ordinary bear? A…"
"If you really want to stay, can you please be silent?" Edmund rubbed his face and turned to go. "Why does it always have to be you? Giving me headaches, making my life harder than it already is… I want justice and holidays…" he mumbled on his way upstairs. Cedric took a quick, final glance at the woman, sharply sucked in the coppery air, and followed Edmund.
~Cloudia~
There was a gap in my memory, and a small, traitorous part of me believed that Leon's words were one of the puzzle pieces needed to fill this gap. It was the part that always feared the worst, thought the worst, and was always trying to be the loudest – just like now. And for a moment, this part won; for a moment, I genuinely believed in my panic and my fear that I was responsible for the massacre in the basement.
But it was only for a moment before rationality conquered this absurd fear.
They had torn each other apart.
There was no way that this could have been my doing.
But what had I been doing at that time, then?
Cloudia massaged her temples. "It is absolutely impossible that I created that bloodbath in the basement. I have seen the corpses and judging from their appearances and injuries the prisoners seem to have attacked one another. I don't know why they did this. All I know is that nothing I could have said, nothing I could have done would have convinced them to kill one another. I don't know who – or even what – could have been able to accomplish something like that. Did Manon force the prisoners to do that? Did someone else? Or did they do it out of their own volition? I don't know. I only know that I am not responsible for what happened," she said, taking a deep breath when she was done.
Saying something to yourself and saying something out loud were indeed two entirely different things.
Leon stayed by the wall. He frowned while he scrutinised Cloudia. "You are drenched in blood."
"I am not drenched in blood."
"I guess you haven't walked past any mirrors lately, have you?"
Cloudia sighed. "I wouldn't call this 'drenched.' It's just 'stained.'"
"'Just stained with blood.' How casual. Not suspicious at all."
"Do you really believe that I was the one who killed the other prisoners?" Cloudia asked, manoeuvring the conversation back to the matter at hand.
"I believe what I saw," Leon answered after a while, his voice surprisingly calm, his eyes fixed on her. "And I saw you kill the others. And when you noticed that I've witnessed everything, you tied me up and threw me away."
"Leon, I do not have the time to slowly and softly introduce you to all the crazy things happening in this place, so I will just throw you in at the deep end," Cloudia said before she grimaced as, for a moment, her headache intensified. She waited until the wave had passed before she continued.
"The labyrinth was a lie. We were hallucinating. I don't know what exactly made us have these hallucinations, but the castle's beauty, the maze – they are not real. The courtyard is just an empty courtyard. The castle is abandoned and dirty. For all I know, we may still be hallucinating. I could be talking to a wall or a grandfather's clock. The castle could look even nastier in reality than it already does to me. But I'm digressing.
"Adair, Prunella, Ainslie, Robena, and all the others are dead and someone laid them down in rows in the basement. Among the corpses are also the ones who died days or weeks ago. There are skeletons which must belong to Levi's victims. There are Sonya's and Charles' corpses with their throats cut. Everyone else seems to have attacked one another; prisoner against prisoner. There is no evidence that they were killed by weapons. They have blood beneath their cracked fingernails. They have blood on their teeth, and the corpses have bite marks.
"They weren't killed by an outsider, by one of Manon's servants – they died at their own hands. I cannot have been responsible for this. My clothes are speckled with blood, yes, but I am certainly not responsible for the deaths of the prisoners. Someone or even something is – and I believe that this person or thing is also responsible for the illusions, the hallucinations.
"Leon, whatever you think you saw is not true: It must be an illusion like anything else. I didn't kill those people. I didn't tie you up and throw you into the next best corridor. That wasn't me. You were tricked just like I was tricked.
"I need you to take a very, very deep breath, close your eyes, count from ten downwards, and open your eyes again – of course, while trying to actively fight these illusions. You need to tell yourself 'None of this is real; everything is just a hallucination, a lie,'" she finished, very pleased that she had managed not to speak faster and faster with every word.
"If you are right," started Leon, "and all this is not real – how can I be sure that you are not a hallucination as–"
Cloudia punched him in the face, and Leon stumbled sideways. "Ow!"
"Do you trust me now?"
"Why should I do that? You could still be an illusion! You could still be lying!"
Cloudia rubbed her face. "Leon," she said, "I don't want to stay any longer in this goddamn castle. I am tired. I am hurt. The possibility that this 'whatever' is still here is giving me goose bumps. I have no time, no nerves for any of this nonsense. So, I will say this only once. And I will say this so slowly that you have enough time to comprehend it: I cannot be a hallucination because, then, I would not have been able to hit you. No matter what you believe: Your hallucinations are definitely not advanced and special enough that they can actually touch you.
"Also: If I was really the one who tied you up and discarded you, why would I go and free you afterwards? Does this make any sense to you?"
Leon looked at her, seemingly considering her words while holding his injured cheek. "Hm… indeed, it would not make any sense for you to tie me up just to untie me shortly afterwards. So, I guess, because I have no other option left, I will have to trust you for now. Well, I will trust you – a little bit. Hesitatingly. This could all be a farce after all and you could be trying to double-cross me and I will not let myself be double-crossed by a mere gi–"
"Very well," Cloudia interrupted him, rubbing her temples. "I will accept this. Better than nothing, at least. If you had said anything else, I would have bound you again and thrown you into the next room so that you would stop wasting my precious time. Or I would have just ditched you right here and left you to face the castle's monster alone."
He scowled at her. "You make it hard for anyone to genuinely trust you, Cloudia. Anyway, are you still trying to 'turn the tables'? To get out of here?"
"I am," she said, nodding. "Do you know, by chance, the way to the dining room?"
"Yes, I do."
"Then, take me there," said Cloudia, and they started moving.
"The castle still looks all flashy to me," Leon admitted after a while.
"We can work on this later."
"I still think your clothes are more drenched than stained."
"We are not going to talk about this again."
"What do you want in the dining room anyway?"
"The butler told me that Manon is there."
"Oh, is she?"
"Men on the brink of death usually don't lie, so I suppose, she is."
Leon nodded. "Yes, yes, then, she must be inside the dining hall. She certainly has to be – where else should the Viscountess be but in the dining hall?"
"Anyway, do you know the butler's name?" Cloudia asked. "He never introduced himself to me, and I cannot remember anyone ever mentioning his name."
"It was Brenton. Brenton Shufflebottom."
"That's a remarkably ridiculous name."
"Speaking of the butler… is he still running around here? Or did you tie him up and throw him into the next best room?"
"I killed him."
Leon raised an eyebrow. "You killed him?"
"That's what I have just said, Leon. I am not just all bark. I've meant what I said. Also, you are the one who believes that I killed dozens of people all on my own. Why are you even surprised?" Cloudia replied.
"Oh, you're wrong: I am not surprised that you could kill him. I just cannot quite grasp that he's dead," Leon meant, guiding her upstairs.
"Please tell me: Do you only see the shining castle and or do you see, for example, shadowy creatures talking to you as well? Shadowy creatures not unlike people you know?"
"I only see the shining castle," Leon said. "Right now, at least. In the labyrinth, however, I did see the 'shadowy creatures' you are talking about. I ran away from them. Then, everything became very hectic and I saw you murdering the others. And when you noticed me seeing you, you tied me up. Except you didn't. That's what you are claiming, at least.
"Oh, here we are," he announced, stopping in front of a vaguely familiar door.
"Very well," Cloudia said, taking out the gun. She looked him straight in the eye when she handed it to him. "Leon. I want you to stay here and make sure nobody or nothing comes through this door, do you understand me? Manon is mine and mine alone. Use the gun only when it's absolutely unavoidable. There are only four shots left. Do you understand?"
"Of course, I understood. I am not an idiot," he replied and held her gaze. "Good luck with Manon," Leon said, taking the gun.
"Well, then," said Cloudia and pushed open the dining hall's doors.
~Cedric~
"Do you know what is going on here?" asked Cedric while he followed Edmund through the very dirty corridors of the castle.
"Weren't you briefed? Didn't they give you a note, at least? Or did you decide not to listen, not to read it?" Edmund replied. Cedric couldn't see his face, but he was certain that Edmund rolled with his eyes while he spoke.
"No. They only yanked me out of my room while I was eating cereals and watching 'The Wild Earl.' It was such a good episode, and I wouldn't have abandoned my series if they hadn't said 'Rossdale, your favourite Ed needs your help! You can find him at this random point, so go there right away!'"
"How many Eds do you even know to have a 'favourite'?" Edmund asked, turning his head towards Cedric.
"Well, many, many Edward Eds can be found on the royal family's family tree. I think there are Edward Eds in Jane Austen novels as well. Edgar Allan Poe is an Edgar Ed I know. And I think one of the characters from this one Ellis Bell novel – the only Ellis Bell novel there is – is another Edgar Ed. What was the novel's title again? Heightening Weights?"
"And why the hell am I your favourite Ed?" He laid his fingers against his forehead. "Why am I even asking you this?"
"Because you're the only Edmund Ed I know!"
"I knew I shouldn't have asked," Edmund dryly replied. "I really do need a holiday. This mission was insane enough without you."
Cedric pricked up his ears. "What is so insane about this mission?"
Edmund stared at him, very visibly disgusted. "You really don't know? You aren't pretending not to know just to spite me? You are, for a change, serious?"
"As serious as anybody could be. I have not the slightest idea what is going on in this castle."
"I cannot believe that an idiot like you is held in such high regard," said Edmund, facing ahead and picking up his pace again.
"Wait!" Cedric said, hurrying after him. "What is going on here now?"
"Like hell, I am going to tell you this, Rossdale. There are only two more people on my list – I don't need your help anymore; the only reason you're still here is that you don't want to leave me alone with a potential monster lurking around."
"You are my favourite Ed after all."
Edmund glared at him and walked faster. "You aren't here to collect any souls. You don't need to know anything because you don't need to judge anyone based on this information. Don't ask me again."
"You look pale."
"What are you talking about, you moron?" asked Edmund, not turning around to look at him.
"You look paler than usual," Cedric said, his voice calm and steady. "And you're stiffer than usual too. I didn't know that this was even possible, but, apparently, I was wrong. Are you afraid of something, Edmund?
"Edmund – is there really a monster in the castle?"
Edmund didn't give an answer, and even if he had opened his mouth to pronounce one, it would have been cut short by the biting smell in the air, shortly followed by the sight of a corpse lying against a wall.
Cedric held his nose while Edmund wrinkled his and carefully cut the corpse with his brush trimmer. The man's Cinematic Record began to play and while it played, Cedric took a closer look at his body: A dart was sticking in his sliced throat, one of his hands was pierced and bloody. His bronze-coloured eyes were lifeless but still seemed to follow Cedric's movements.
He tore his gaze from the corpse in the last few seconds of his Cinematic Record. Cedric couldn't say that he was surprised to see that Cloudia was this man's murderer.
This girl always left a trail of chaos behind her.
The Record ended with the last thing the dead man had seen: Cloudia's face, her tired, tired eyes. Cedric's gaze lingered where her face had been projected just moments before while Edmund finished the paperwork.
If there was really a monster walking around, I hoped that Cloudia hadn't encountered it and would never do.
Cedric looked away and at Edmund who was, to his surprise, still doing his paperwork. Cedric frowned, mirroring his colleague. "Is something wrong?" he asked but Edmund ignored him and put away his journal.
"One more soul left," he mumbled.
"Oh, only one more?" Cedric said. "When?"
If the last dead body indicated the end of this madness, and I hoped it did, I would like, as macabre it may sound, for this person to die as soon as possible.
"It will take a while until the soul is ready for collection," said Edmund, walking forward.
"Oh, how long?"
"If you already have enough, you can go. You are not needed here after all."
"No, no. I just thought that it would be better if everything went a bit faster so that you wouldn't have to walk around like a scaredy-cat anymore."
"I am not a scaredy-ca– Wah!" Edmund exclaimed, nearly tripping over a piece of rope on the ground and making Cedric giggle.
"Why is this lying around like that!" Edmund grumbled, kicking it away before whirling around to Cedric. "Stop laughing, you moron!"
"Why are you so worked up, Eddie? The monster shouldn't be able to see us right now, should it?" Cedric said with a grin on his lips. "And what one cannot see is hard to attack."
Edmund narrowed his eyes. "Just be quiet, Rossdale," he replied, walking off again.
~Cloudia~
Of all things, it had to smell like fruit tea when Cloudia pushed open the doors to the dining hall. She had never understood why this abomination was even allowed to be called "tea" and be displayed side-by-side with actual tea flavours.
The abominable scent was coming from the cup Manon von Brandt was holding. She sat at the end of the table, her feet on the tabletop. Manon was still wearing that red dress from before; it's colour, however, was now faded just like everything else in the dining room.
"What is better than to toast upon your survival with a cup of fruit tea?" Manon said and held up her cup before taking a sip.
"I should have died, then," replied Cloudia, walking towards her.
"Not a fan of fruit tea, Cloudia?"
"It's an insult to every tea brand. I am not at all surprised that you like it. I guess you are also the kind of person that dislikes penguins."
Manon grimaced. "Uh, those ugly creatures that are birds but are too dumb to fly? Those creatures that are basically hairy fish?"
Of all the ways, Oscar could have tested Cedric, of course, he had to choose one involving someone as irritating as Manon von Brandt. This goddamn bastard. Just because this was Cedric's test, Oscar really did not have to exaggerate.
"You took a few things which belong to me," Cloudia said. "My ring, my necklace. I would like them back."
"I can understand why you would like the ring back, but that ugly necklace?" Manon wrinkled her nose. "You have terrible taste in jewellery, my dear Clou–"
Cloudia dashed forward, trying to get a hold of Manon's collar, but right before her fingers could close around it, Manon threw the tea into Cloudia's face. Cloudia stumbled back a bit, wiping her face, while Manon let herself fall to the ground and crawled beneath the table.
As soon as she could see again, Cloudia followed Manon, chasing her underneath the dining table and trying to get hold of her ankle. Cloudia's attempts were in vain but this didn't stop Manon from screaming and kicking around vehemently. Cloudia backed away a bit, and one of Manon's feet collided with one of the table legs – and the table began to totter and the leg Manon had hit was ripped out. Cloudia let go of Manon and rolled around, her arms shooting upwards, just the second before the table came crashing down on her.
Cloudia tried to push up the table, but it was too heavy and as it was old, had been abandoned to nature for years, the other table legs followed their fallen sibling and died one after the other.
She couldn't hold it up for much longer. Panic had begun to creep its way through her body. It didn't help that she was not in good shape, that she was even lying in a ridiculously uncomfortable and unprofitable way – one leg crossed over the other in a tangle of fabric.
Couldn't it have been a simple, light side table?
Cloudia bit down on her lip, forcing her to focus and push the tabletop a bit higher so that she could bend one of her legs. With her knee holding the table at bay, she dared to let go with one hand and reach out to one of the broken legs. With shaking hands, a shaking body in general, Cloudia managed to grab the leg and quickly set it up so that it propped up the table long enough to let her crawl out.
Groaning and gasping for breath, Cloudia dropped herself on the floor. She put a hand on her chest and fixed her gaze on the broken chandelier hanging from the ceiling. To her feet, at last, the table fell down completely, blowing up dust.
"How pathetic, Cloudia. I've expected more of you," Manon said, and all life returned to Cloudia. She rolled herself up and took out the dagger while she marched towards Manon who was leaning against a wall.
"I've had enough," Cloudia hissed, quickly approaching the wall, but when she got there, Manon quickly rolled away from it and hurried away. Cloudia turned around to look at Manon. "My birthday was a few days ago, and after being such a nuisance, I think you owe me a present: So, tell me, what the hell is going on in this goddamn castle? What do you even want?"
"Is that really what you want as a present? I thought you wanted these," Manon replied from the middle of the room while Cloudia charged at her again. And right before Cloudia could catch her, Manon stepped aside, holding out the ring and the necklace. "You want these ugly things, right? Then, you can have them!" she yelled, throwing both items away before going for a sprint.
Cloudia whirled around to follow her but did so too quickly, and once again, pain exploded in her head and everything started to blur. With clenched teeth, she drilled her fingernails in her hands, using the self-inflicted pain as an anchor in order not to drift away and pass out. Cloudia looked up and around to see where Manon had gone when her vision was clear again – only to see that the room was empty and the door closed.
That was odd. I hadn't heard the door being opened, hadn't heard anything from Leon.
And, from one second to another, all pain ebbed away and took the clouds, that had besieged my mind all along, away with it.
In the labyrinth, I had heard my steps – Leon had heard my steps.
There had been absolutely nothing inside the labyrinth.
And nobody had ever waited for me in the dining room.
I had only stopped hearing any sounds in the maze when Leon pointed out the odd stillness; I had only started to see things that weren't there after Leon claimed that he saw them.
And before I had entered the dining room, Leon had reassured me that Manon was certainly in there.
Leon who had "just" been tied up in the labyrinth. Leon who had "just" vanished a while later. Leon who had "miraculously" been spared by whatever had killed the others.
Leon whom I had told that I had been able to see through the illusions. Leon who had tried and failed to make me believe that I killed the prisoners.
Leon, the only surviving "prisoner" out of twenty-three – and twenty-three bodies that I counted in the basement.
Leon…
With the thoughts spinning in her head and her body numbed by the unspoken realisation, Cloudia moved forward – instinctively, unconsciously – to her necklace and put it on. She wrapped a hand around the skull pendant, held it so tightly that her knuckles came out white for it was the only real, solid thing in the watery mess around her and in her head, and she thought: Undertaker – where are you? before she heard the door opening.
…whom I had foolishly given the gun.
"Congratulations, Lady Phantomhive," Leon Melville said, pointing the gun to the back of her head. "If you could follow me now?"
~Cedric~
Undertaker – where are you?
Cedric abruptly turned around. Countess, how are you? he thought, touching the skull pendant, its pull stronger than ever, and was about to head in the opposite direction when someone caught his arm.
"Hey, where are you going?" Edmund wanted to know, scowling at him. "We need to get outside again, not deeper into the castle."
Oh, right. I had almost forgotten that he was still here.
Cedric wanted to say something, but for a split second, he felt a change in the castle's atmosphere – and so did Edmund as they both flinched and whirled around.
"There's something in here – something wrong," Cedric said, breaking free from Edmund's grip. "You felt it too: this terrible presence, didn't you? We have to find out what it was, what it is."
"That's not our task: We are Grim Reapers, not fucking detectives," Edmund replied.
"You know that something is wrong with this place – and something seems to be wrong with the souls, the Records as well, or am I wrong?" said Cedric, towering over Edmund. "You behaved oddly when you reaped the last soul: What was wrong with it? What did you see? Or was there something you didn't see that was strange? You are keeping something from me – and whatever it is, it could be connected to whatever is lurking in this godforsaken castle. And if this thing managed to tamper with the souls and Cinematic Records in some, in any way, it is a hindrance to our work – and if this thing keeps wandering around, keeps doing whatever it is doing, none of us will be able to carry out our task properly.
"So, I'm telling you: We have to find out what this is – or, at least, we have to try. Because our task is not just to collect the souls of the dead, but to make sure that they arrive safely at their final station. It is our duty to, at least, try to find this thing – and didn't you say that we have plenty of time until the next collection? Or are you afraid?"
Edmund looked away, and Cedric laughed dryly. "Still, a scaredy-cat, aren't you, Oxley? A big mouth, but always scared, always afraid. A Grim Reaper fearing death – how laughable. And then I thought we were chosen as Reapers just because we didn't fear death."
Edmund stepped forward, his ears burning red. "Despite everything, we can still die. Of all of us, shouldn't it be you who knows this the best?"
Cedric pushed him away from himself. "Make yourself useful and search downstairs," he said, his voice as icy as ever, before he turned around and ran.
Shit, Cloudia.
I hoped that she was as far as possible from whatever was lurking here.
Cedric tumbled into the dining room, but there was no sight of Cloudia – there was only a long table with chairs and something shining in the dim light. He went to it and picked it up.
The Phantomhive ring. She must have been here.
I pocketed it while running out of the dining room – always following the pendant's pull.
~Cloudia~
Raising her hands, Cloudia slowly turned around. "What do you want?"
"Right now? Your dagger. We don't want you to do anything silly with it, do we?" Leon said, smirking. Cloudia reached into her pocket and tossed the sheathed dagger to him.
"Oh, the high and mighty Lady Cloudia Phantomhive finally obedient – am I dreaming?" His grin widened while he put away the dagger. "All your grand words from earlier for nothing. You are only all bark, no bite – I expected more of the Watchdog's fiancée, especially considering that she is a Phantomhive herself. And now, turn around and walk out of the room – and keep your hands where I can see them."
With raised hands and a gun pressed to her back, Cloudia left the dining room and was led through the castle. They passed the place where she had found Leon earlier (how she wished she had just left him there), Brenton's corpse, and walked downstairs to where the prisoners' corpses had been laid out. Cloudia bit on her tongue while Leon led her through the room; and while he opened the hidden door to the dungeon, Cloudia stood unmoving in a corner where Leon could keep his eyes on her just as she had been ordered to.
"It took you an awfully long time to finally find me," Leon said when they entered the dungeon.
"It took you an awfully long time to address the topic," Cloudia replied.
"I was getting sore waiting for you, Mylady," he continued as if she had never spoken.
"Well, then, you shouldn't have hit me with a pole or drugged me or however you managed to make me pass out."
He grinned. "Oh, no, we didn't do anything. You passed out yourself – at least, that's what my business partner told me while he tied me up."
"Business partner?"
"I would love to say that I did all this by myself, but I would only discredit my business partner by doing so. After all, he proved himself to be very useful, and I don't want to be ungrateful – I did, however, plan all this. He just implemented everything."
"And who is your business partner?" Cloudia asked.
"Oh, a very phenomenal person. You will meet him in a while: I am actually escorting you to him as he requested to talk to you," Leon told her while he led her out of the castle and they walked into the rain. The sky was now completely dark – the moon was hidden behind clouds and only a few stars shone faintly and weakly against the night – and the courtyard was plunged in blackness.
Cloudia raised an eyebrow. "He wants to talk to me? Why?"
"Because he wants to know how you have managed to break free of his illusion. Unlike me, he was not mad to learn that you were able to do this – 'If we find out how she did it, we can specifically eliminate all mistakes we've made and perfect the show,' he said." Leon pressed the gun deeper into her flesh. "He may be right, but I still cannot believe that you've managed to break free from my well thought out scenario. Nobody else ever did – and is there something worse than finding out that something you've thought to be perfect in all ways and manners for such a long time proved to be flawed in the end?"
"You know what they say: Nobody and nothing is perfect."
"I couldn't care less about your little words of wisdom. I planned everything out so well – and do you know how long it took me to find someone who was able to help me realise my vision? I gave so much to get where I am today – only for a posh little lady to come, to act all tough and mighty, and to actually sabotage everything! I wanted to show the world what I have achieved, but now, I have to wait again to get the recognition I deserve. All because of you.
"'Oh, you have killed a few too many people, we have to fire you,'" Leon suddenly changed the topic – and his voice as well. "'I've always known that this dream of yours is silly.' 'I didn't believe you would ever achieve anything in this field anyway: Why don't you do something which fits you better? Like becoming a footman of a renowned family.' 'Your brother never aimed too high, and look how well he is doing!' Well, at least, I am not a corpse lying in an abandoned castle's dirty basement!"
"You know what?" Cloudia dryly said, "I have the longest day in the history of long days behind me – I couldn't care less about your problems. And if you still feel the urge to tell me the story of your life, please do so in twenty words or less or just go ahead and shoot me."
"But aren't you the one who talks and talks and talks without stopping, without end? How impolite of you to shun others for what you are doing yourself, Lady Phantomhive. And aren't you at all curious what my motivations are? What my goal is?"
"I am curious, but I am tired as well. And from what you've said, you are a 'poor misunderstood soul' who was fired from his job because he killed more people than anyone else, who was always looked down to by his family, and who had to work for Manon and Maven von Brandt, and now, you want to prove yourself by making someone else do all the work and gloat. I can find the details myself after I get home. Leon Franklin Melville was your name, right? Or just Leon Melville? Oh, no, let me guess: Your second and your brother's first name is Franklin, right? But everyone is calling you Franklin as well – and whoever brought you to the prisoners introduced you to them as Franklin, much to your chagrin, am I right?"
Leon grabbed her by the neck and pushed her face-forward into the next wall.
"Apparently, I've cheered too soon: You are still remarkably annoying and so, so cocky – but I hope that you are aware that my hands are only bound when it comes to killing you or cutting off your tongue: There are still many, many other things that I can do to you," he breathed behind her and exchange the gun for the dagger, pressing its blade against her cheek and drawing blood. "How about I cut open that pretty face of yours? Would the Earl even still take you like that?"
"Try it," Cloudia said. "I doubt that you will though."
He laughed. "Of course, I will. Don't you remember, I killed…"
"I know what you've said, but I am not afraid of you. And do you know why? Because I doubt that you could ever hurt or kill anyone with your own hands.
"You have said that you killed 'too many' people where you used to work, so you worked at a place where it's not unusual for employees to occasionally kill clients. An asylum, for example. Or a prison or a factory. But killing someone accidentally isn't the same as killing someone deliberately.
"And there's one more thing, dear Mr Melville," said Cloudia, craning her head to look into his eyes. "I couldn't care less if you scarred my face."
"Doesn't the Earl have any standards, then?" Leon laughed. "Tell me, Lady Phantomhive, who is this mysterious Earl of Phantomhive, this enigmatic Watchdog, who does not even reveal himself when his own fiancée is at risk? A fine gentleman he seems to be. Oh, tell me his identity! A betrayal for a betrayal, Mylady."
Cloudia laughed, and it must have sounded quite manically as Leon seemed to be quite taken by surprise by it and his grip on her and the dagger loosened a bit. "You hail yourself a genius, but you still haven't figured it out?" she said, bringing her face closer to his.
Would this ever cease to be satisfying?
"There is currently no Earl of Phantomhive – I am the Watchdog." With these words, she hit her head against his, and while Leon tumbled back, Cloudia took out the dart she still had left – and rammed it through his right eye when he charged at her.
Leon screamed and threw away the dagger to pull out the dart with both his hands. Cloudia seized the moment to run around him in a wide circle to get to the dagger lying by the entrance into the castle. She would consider herself a good runner – she trained whenever she could –, but the ground was wet and she had to be careful not to slip. She could barely see where she had to go: The rain had got worse, and so had her headache. Cloudia still hadn't reached the dagger when Leon, having recovered enough to attack her, began shooting wildly into her direction.
I was so glad to have robbed him of an eye; if he had moved and I had hit something else, I would be dead by now.
Cloudia slithered the rest of the path to the dagger and took hold of it. It felt oddly against her skin, and when she touched it, her vision sharpened a bit again. She hurried to the castle entrance. Leon shot his fourth and final bullet, and even in his franticness, he managed to hit her. Crying out, Cloudia fell on a knee, holding her right arm. New pain ran through her body, and her vision blurred again.
Get up, she told herself. Get up. Cloudia clenched her teeth together, forced herself to her feet. Leon threw away his gun – and cocked another one.
Shit. He was one of the servants. Of course, just like them, he would have had a gun from the beginning.
Cloudia opened her mouth to curse, but no sound came out. She collapsed against a wall to dodge another shot.
I… I… I was heating up again.
She bit her lip bloody and blinked and blinked to clear her vision.
I couldn't get up anymore. I felt so heavy and so, so tired…
Leon walked up to her, pressed her against the wall. She could barely hear what he said to her, could barely even see him – she only knew that he was cursing, only knew that his face was bloody.
Cloudia could not even really feel his hands on her shoulders. All she felt was her own heat; odd, she would have believed to be cold when feeling numb, but the only thing that was cold and that she felt was the dagger – but it didn't feel quite right either.
It was, despite being cold, soothing – perhaps because she herself was so warm?
Leon kept on talking and talking, but she couldn't catch any of his words. She was losing her grip on the here and now, her mind was drifting away, and part of her was glad to finally let go.
And then, amused laughter fell on her numb ears and reached them too; Cloudia wanted to see who was laughing, but couldn't move her head. But Leon could; Leon who was curious too.
He turned his head to the voice and spoke to its source – and in this very moment, her survival instinct clicked awake for one last time and for a short moment, new energy ran through her body – and Cloudia drove the dagger through Leon's chest. Her hands slid from the handle, her body slumped down; Leon looked at her, and through her blurry vision, he did not seem in pain but calm –
– and the world gave away to familiar brokenness, to green light in a sea of nothing; there was nothing to see, nothing to hear – just like it had always been. And still, and still, I heard in the distance the faintest of voices calling me – and for the briefest of moments, my own name broke through the pale, still, silent sea –
~Cedric~
The pendant pulled Cedric through the corridors and down to the ground floor. Each of his steps echoed loudly in the still castle, but at this moment, he could not care less if whatever was wandering in here found him as long as it did not find her.
He was led to where all the corpses were lying, and from there down a path he had not taken before – a path which brought him straight to a dead end. Crying out in frustration, Cedric kicked against the wall. Could it be that the necklace, ancient as it was, was malfunctioning? Or did he miss a turn?
Cedric looked around and noticed that there were bloodstains on the ground, but not on the wall even though it was impossible for it to be untainted judging from the condition of the ground.
Wait a minute – didn't the blood spots look like they came from the direction of the wall? When I tried to enter the castle for the first time, there had also been a dead end like this: stained ground, clean wall. This castle had already proven to be full of hidden doors, so could this be one as well?
Before, Cedric had tapped the walls to find an entrance, but now, he didn't have to fear anymore that he might run into any other Grim Reapers, that any other Grim Reapers might notice him teleporting his way into and through the castle. Edmund already knew that Cedric was here, and he wouldn't find it strange for Cedric to teleport around – he believed that he was lazy after all. And so, from one second to the next, Cedric was on the other side of the wall – and there she was: at the end of the corridor. A man was holding her by the shoulders and pressing her against the wall, a man looking out into the rain, a man who did not notice her plunging the dagger through his chest. The blade pierced through his heart.
"Cloudia!" Cedric shouted and ran towards them, shoving away the corpse from Cloudia who had lost consciousness and had slumped down against the wall. His hand jittered when he pressed his fingers against her wrist and he had never felt as relieved as when he felt Cloudia's faint pulse against his skin.
She was alive. She was alive.
And now, we only had to get out of here before Edmund arrived.
With a faint smile on his face, Cedric quickly tore away a piece of his shirt, wrapped it around Cloudia's injured arm, and noticed that she was strangely hot. Frowning, he took off his jacket and wrapped her in it. Cedric yanked the dagger out of the man's chest and pocketed it before carefully lifting Cloudia into his arms. Her head rolled against his chest when Cedric hurried out of the castle and into the courtyard.
Teleporting would be much easier and faster, but Cloudia always got a bit dizzy when we travelled like this. I really didn't want to try transporting her like this when she was injured and passed out. I couldn't risk her health any further, and then there was Falada who I could not just leave behind.
I just hoped that Cloudia could hang on until we had returned to the manor.
Reaching the courtyard wall, Cedric carefully jumped over it and walked into the direction where he had left Falada. But when he got there, Falada was nowhere to be seen.
"Your Grace?"
Tightening his grasp on Cloudia, Cedric turned around. In front of him stood a woman with light brown hair tied into a simple bun; she was wearing a simple dark blue dress and dark glasses, in one hand she was holding an umbrella, in the other a cane. She seemed to be in her thirties but had something ageless about her. Or perhaps he was just imagining it because he couldn't see her eyes?
The woman briefly curtsied. "My name is Daisy. I am one of Lord Livingstone's servants. The others and I have waited for you for quite some time, and during our wait, we were so free to take care of the Countess Phantomhive's horse. Considering the Lady's condition – how tragic, what happened to her? – I would suggest, Your Grace, that we postpone talking about details and explanations and that you follow me to the carriage."
I had absolutely no idea what was going on, but a carriage sounded lovely right now.
Cedric followed Daisy a little while through the woods until they arrived at the aforementioned carriage. Falada had been bound to a nearby tree; a short man with red hair was feeding him some carrots and did not even turn to Cedric and the others when they arrived.
A dapper-clothed man with greying brown hair opened the carriage door, and Cedric entered the carriage. The man helped Daisy into the carriage, and right before he closed the door, Cedric said, "Thank you."
"There is no use talking to Ishmael when you are not facing him," Daisy told him and put umbrella and cane on her lap. "You can, however, talk to Scott, the coachman, but only when you are content never to receive an answer. Speaking of him: Scott – we are all seated now," she shouted and the carriage began to move.
Cedric shifted Cloudia in his arms until he believed that she was lying comfortably. "And you are Oscar's servants?"
"Indeed. We were ordered to wait for you and Countess Phantomhive to get out of the castle and to intervene and help if we deemed that the situation got out of hand."
"It did go out of hand," Cedric pointed out.
Daisy bent down and opened a compartment in the bench, taking out a blanket. "You must be cold," she said, handing the blanket to him. "We were about to intervene – but then, you appeared and everything went well."
"Your definition of 'well' doesn't seem to be the same as mine," Cedric replied, taking the blanket and putting it over Cloudia.
"It is very unfortunate what happened," Daisy said. "I must admit that we were unable to assess the situation correctly – it was significantly odder than anticipated. After I have reported everything to Lord Livingstone, he will certainly discuss everything with you in length, but, for now, it would be better to lean back and rest until we have arrived at Phantomhive Manor."
Countryside, England, United Kingdom – April 1848
~Cedric~
Cloudia hadn't woken up on that day, or the day after, or the day after that and that… Even when her body had healed, something inside her certainly hadn't. It was rather unnerving to see her looking peacefully asleep while knowing very well that this wasn't the case. No wonder Barrington had been so upset when he told me about Cloudia's odd condition.
It seemed that for Cloudia time had stopped, that she had been caught in some kind of loops from which she couldn't break free for now – I, however, was at time's mercy in a different way: For me, it went on; each day, I tried to visit Cloudia no matter how brief the visit was to see if she was awake again before I continued working. Everything seemed to pass in a blur while I was waiting and waiting: collecting souls, having to hear Edmund complaining that I had abandoned him in the castle… I thought such days were long over, and I couldn't hate it more that they were back now.
Absentmindedly, Cedric stared into the distance, wondering yet again how the world could have been grey and cold only two and a half weeks ago when it was now warm and in colourful bloom. He was so deep in thought that he even nearly missed the voice reaching out to him.
Undertaker? Cedric heard her voice in his head and quickly focused on it, raising his hand to grab the skull pendant.
Countess? he thought timidly. How often in the last days had he believed to hear her voice, only to realise that he had only been making a fool of himself?
Yes, it is me came the answer, and Cedric sighed in relief and joy.
You are awake!
Yes, I am. If you are free, can you pay me a visit? I think we need to talk.
Cedric glanced down at the body to his feet. The woman, Emika Asher, had been the last name on his list today, and he had already prepared himself mentally for an extraordinarily boring Sunday.
I will be there in ten minutes, he thought, smiling.
The prospect of finally being able to talk to Cloudia again made it rather difficult not to skip the entire way from the manor's entrance door to Cloudia's chambers while whistling a happy song. Cedric still managed to do it though, albeit he had a silly grin all over his face instead. This earned him an eye roll from Lisa when he passed her by.
He stormed into the anteroom – and the instant, he was inside, the greeting on his tongue and all joy in his body vanished.
Cloudia looked up from a letter she had been reading. "There you are," she greeted him, but Cedric's entire attention was not directed to her but to the other person in the room.
"What is he doing here?" Cedric demanded to know, scowling into Oscar's direction.
Why was this bastard still here? How could he just read a goddamn book in the anteroom of the woman he had nearly got killed as if nothing had happened?
"He is reading," said Cloudia, sighing and putting the letter back into its envelope. "Oscar, would you be so kind and leave us alone?"
For the first time since Cedric had entered the room, Oscar looked up. "Of course, Mylady," he said, slipping a bookmark between his book's pages before closing it and getting up. Cedric gathered all his courage to glare at him while he was leaving the room, but Oscar ignored him and, soon, the door snapped shut.
Cedric turned to Cloudia and was about to repeat his question when he saw how thin and fragile she looked and all his fury burned away.
"Countess, how are you?" he asked, sitting down opposite from her.
"I am fine," Cloudia said and put the envelope on the side table between them before leaning back in her armchair. Cedric glimpsed at the letter, but he could not read who the sender was; he only registered that many, many stamps had been chaotically glued on the envelope.
"That's exactly what you always say when you are not fine."
"Undertaker–"
"Wait! I think I have something for you." Cedric searched his pockets for a while before retrieving a small bag and handing it to Cloudia. "I never leave the Dispatch without a bag of biscuits. You cannot believe how quickly Grim Reapers can get hungry."
With a tiny smile on her lips, Cloudia took the bag. "And why do you assume that it's not just you?"
"If it's just me, why else do the other Reapers always glare at me when I eat my biscuits during longer collections?"
His words made Cloudia smile again, and Cedric blinked at her. "Are you sure that you are feeling well, Countess? Usually, you would shake your head or scold me at this point."
"I am just a little bit tired," she told him, fumbling with the bag. "You might think that I would be wide awake after sleeping for such a long time – but I would not call it a refreshing sleep. Or 'sleep' at all."
"Ba… Barrington mentioned something about some 'attacks' you experience," Cedric said, lowering his voice, "but he did not really explain them. Though he did say something about your memory too and…"
"Yes, ever since I witnessed my father's death, my memory is faulty," Cloudia said, interrupting him. "The nature of my memory malfunction is, however, rather puzzling." She stood up, that small action visibly straining her, and walked towards her bookcases. Cedric silently watched Cloudia pulling back the thick blue curtain shielding the bookshelves and opening the glass doors. She traced over the numerous spines.
"Emma," Cloudia said quietly, her finger resting on a spine. "Chapter seventeen: 'Mr and Mrs John Knightley were not detained long at Hartfield. The weather soon improved enough for those to move who must move; and Mr Woodhouse having, as usual, tried to persuade his daughter to stay behind with all her children, was obliged to see the whole party set off, and return to his lamentations over the destiny of poor Isabella; —which poor Isabella, passing her life with those she doated on, full of their merits, blind to their faults, and always innocently busy, might have been a model of right feminine happiness.'" Her finger moved farther and rested on another spine. "Jane Eyre. Beginning sentence: 'There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.'" Cedric saw her finger tremble slightly when she went on. "Wuthering Heights. From chapter twenty-six: 'Catherine surveyed him with grief and astonishment: she changed the ejaculation of joy on her lips to one of alarm; and the congratulation on their long-postponed meeting to an anxious inquiry, whether he were worse than usual?'" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Oliver Twist. End: 'There is no coffin in that tomb; and may it be many, many years, before another name is placed above it! But, if the spirits of the Dead ever come back to earth, to visit spots hallowed by the love—the love beyond the grave—of those whom they knew in life, I believe that the shade of Agnes sometimes hovers round that solemn nook. I believe it none the less because that nook is in a Church, and she was weak and erring.'"
Cloudia looked at Cedric, looking even more tired than before.
"As I have already told you: I was the one to discover my father's corpse," she said. "Then, a servant found me in a completely different place, not responding but clearly awake. It must have been shortly afterwards that I lost consciousness and didn't wake up for a month. And when I did finally wake up, I could not remember anything. Not what I had ever done, not who anyone was, not even who I was." Cloudia paused a moment before she went on.
"My family helped me to relearn everything and tried to help me recall the memories I had lost by telling me all these stories about my early childhood and my father. And I clung to all of their words even though it does not really matter what I did when I was two or three years old. But…" She sighed. "Most people barely remember anything from their very early childhood. But some do. Of course, only fragmentarily, but still. I, however, cannot remember a single fragment from that time. And even if you don't actively remember something, you can sometimes still remember the feelings you had in this very moment – I don't even have this. It just feels like something was stolen from me, and I didn't want to let this happen ever again, didn't want to re-experience that time again after I woke up and all these people seemed to know me: To them, I seemed to be someone, but to me they were nothing. That's why I held so tightly to the stories my aunts and uncles and cousins told me, and for a while, I actually believed that this had helped me remember these things on my own.
"But this apparent 'remembering' was nothing but me clinging too tightly to these stories and wishing too intensively to be able to recall anything. I've told myself so often that I could remember that I started to believe this lie. But my 'memories' of being picked up by my father and feeling the wind against my skin or being taken by him to some events are, at the end of the day, nothing but lies. I didn't start regaining my memories – all I did was reciting what others told me and filling the gaps with my own imagination."
Cloudia put a hand on one of her bookshelves, gazing up at them. "For some time, I wondered that, perhaps, my memory was just bad and that this was the sole reason for my troubles. That's why I spent such a long time memorising all those novels, poems, etc. to see whether or not I was right. And I wasn't. My memory is, generally, good – very good even, exceptional. I am certain that in another world, I would be one of those people who could recall events from the time when they were toddlers – but why wasn't I in this world in which we live? You and I?
"Eleanor believes that I forgot everything due to shock or because my mind wants to protect me from something, but why and how I lost my memories is as much of a mystery as for why my nursery maid found me in the winter garden or how exactly my father died." Cloudia closed the glass doors and pulled back the curtain.
"For years, I believed that this was everything – that apart from having no memory prior to discovering my father's corpse I was 'fine.' But again, I was wrong: When I was seven years old I had what I later called my first 'attack.'
"People who experienced something traumatic, even if they seem fine, can fall back into their trauma, into the memory of it, by being somehow reminded of it. This happened to me back then, but on a much larger scale: Just like in the last few weeks, I was 'sleeping' and reliving the moments in which I've found my father's body again and again – but I am trapped in those 'memories' without actually capturing them. I relive all the feelings I have apparently experienced back then without seeing what exactly triggered them. The truth is right in front of me, and I just cannot see it. I think there is nothing more painful but to have the key to opening a door right with you and still being unable to open it.
"And then there's the fact that these 'attacks' affect my health and can render me absolutely useless during investigations – just like this ti..." Cloudia held her head, pain flashing over her face, and Cedric hurried to her side to steady her.
"Countess?"
"I am fine," she said, her features relaxing again. "It's just that I woke up yesterday, and here I am: standing for too long and talking for too long."
"I cannot believe you've finally admitted that you talked for too long," Cedric remarked and helped her back into the armchair before he sat down on one of its armrests himself.
"I hope this makes you understand how tired I really am. I was sleeping for two and a half weeks and am already ready to sleep for another two and a half weeks." Cloudia reached forward to take the bag of biscuits and fondled with it in her hands.
"I apologise for not warning you about what Oscar planned to do – it's just that it seems that he has absolutely terrible trust issues and wants to be completely sure that everyone I picked or will pick as one of my Aristocrats of Evil is truly loyal to me and would not abandon me the instant danger arises. Oscar himself didn't know though that the Witch's Castle was more than just the hideout of a few criminals; he actually apologised how out of hand everything went."
"And you're trusting him?"
"I'm believing him. And I trust him in the aspect that he would never willingly, knowingly expose me to such danger because, for reasons I cannot truly grasp myself, Oscar really does not want me to get harmed."
"I still think you should fire him," Cedric said and spread his arms. "Especially because you already have the perfect replacement for him."
Cloudia smiled at him and opened the biscuit bag, taking one out and slowly eating it.
"I am so happy to have you back, Countess," it blurted out of his mouth, and Cloudia looked up at him. "It was terribly boring without you," he quickly added.
"I am happy to be back again too," Cloudia said and sighed. "I just wish that I didn't lose control of myself and we would know more about what was exactly going on in the Witch's Castle. Manon was found in one of the rooms upstairs, but she doesn't seem to know anything about the labyrinth and the illusions."
Cedric put his hand over hers. "It is all right. This isn't your fault, and all that matters right now is that it is over and that you should rest."
"Well, I guess so," she mumbled, closing the bag again.
He chewed on his lip before he squeezed her hand and said, "In all the chaos, I completely forgot to give this to you." Cedric reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and took out a little package in flowery wrapping paper. "Happy belated birthday, Countess."
Cloudia took the package from him. "Thank you, Undertaker," she said and unwrapped the paper, revealing behind it a blue leather-bound notebook.
"I got you jewellery last year, so I didn't want to buy you any again this year. And because it's impossible to buy you a book without buying you one you already have, I thought: How about giving her a book she can fill out herself? You can use it as a diary or to write down a story of your own or whatever you want to do with it," he said, his voice involuntarily getting quieter with every word he spoke.
Cloudia ran her fingers over the notebook. "It is wonderful. Thank you, Undertaker," she said, looking up at him again – and only now did Cedric notice that he had bent down to her when he had given her his gift, and now, their faces were painfully close to each other and their gazes locked together.
Cedric sucked in the air, unable to break free from Cloudia's gaze, and his heart pounded behind his rips when he noticed that Cloudia seemed to be just as incapable of breaking free of his. And then with the tiniest, faintest smile on her lips, Cloudia leaned back.
"I think you should go now," she said silently, looking down at her lap.
After he had left Cloudia's chambers, Cedric stood a while in front of her door, befuddled and trying to process what had just happened. He still stood there when ten minutes later, Barrington passed by.
"Oh, I didn't know that you are here, Kristopher," Barrington said, coming to a halt when he saw Cedric. "Are you standing there because you can't find the courage to step inside or because you were already inside and are now a bit taken aback because of… of her sight? Or," he lowered his voice and narrowed his eyes, "are you keeping a lockout because this girl is already doing something reckless again?"
"I've just spoken to her," Cedric told him, and Barrington sighed, rubbing his eyes. "How is she? How are you?"
"I am fine, and she seems to be… I'm not quite sure; it's hard to describe."
Barrington sighed again. "No matter how often I see her like this, I'm always as heartbroken as the first time. I wish I could help." Another sigh. "At least, she's awake again." He walked away, and Cedric followed him.
"Barrington, why didn't you do anything to stop Oscar?"
"I would rather not talk about him now," Barrington said, scowling. "Kristopher, if you don't have anything else to say to me, it would be wonderful if you could leave me alone for a while."
Cedric stopped and looked after Barrington.
Did I have something else to say to him? Something else to ask him?
"I do have one more question, Barrington," Cedric said a little bit too loudly than he had intended. Barrington slowed down, and Cedric trembled a bit when he continued to speak.
"I do not know much more about Cloudia's father's death beyond from what she and you told me. Actually, there's only one more thing I know: This rumour about his death – is it true? Did–"
From one moment to another, Barrington had turned around and crossed the distance between them. "Where did you hear this?" he demanded to know, putting force and authority into his voice without raising it, without taking all softness from it, and for the first time since Cedric had met Barrington, he could imagine him as the Leader of the British Knights.
"Very seldom here and there," said Cedric, and Barrington ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair. "Kristopher, could you do me a favour and never speak of it again? I don't want more people to know of this, especially not Dia. She can never know; do you understand?"
Cedric nodded. "I promise to never tell anyone. But… but is it true?"
Barrington looked him in the eyes. "Of course, not," he said, sounding awfully tired. "He would have never done this." And with these words, he turned around and left. Cedric himself walked down the path from which he had come and descended the stairs from there. Aimlessly, he wandered around in the manor, not knowing what to do with this newly gained piece of information.
I still wasn't quite sure what to think of Barrington – or of any other of Cloudia's Aristocrats of Evil – but in this matter, I trusted him. But it made me wonder: If Simon Phantomhive would have never done such a thing, why did the Grim Reapers – some, at least – still believe that he did? How did this rumour come into existence when there was, apparently, nothing to fuel it?
Cedric would have continued walking around like this – pondering and absolutely perplexed – if he had not been suddenly grabbed and dragged into a little sitting room. The door was closed behind him and he was thrown onto a sofa before he could even understand what was happening; and when he finally did understand that he had been seemingly kidnapped in a to him familiar house, Cedric jumped up from the sofa and looked around.
"I didn't know you were such a dunce, Not-Kristopher," Cecelia said from an armchair, pouring herself a glass of wine. "Of course, I knew that you were one, but you keep surprising me how much of a dunce you are. Congratulations."
"What am I doing here?"
"Keeping me company. Now, please, sit down; I assume that you want to talk to me?" Cecelia took a sip from her wine. "Oh, how impolite of me to drink without offering you something as well: Do you want a glass of wine? I also have whiskey, scotch, and absinthe if you don't like wine."
"I decline," Cedric said. He still didn't know what he was doing here but he sat down anyway.
"Do you decline because you don't drink at all, because you don't like any of the options I gave you, or because you are not in the mood for it?" she asked, gulping down the rest of her wine.
"Because I am not in the mood for it."
"What a relief! Cloudia doesn't drink at all, and Barrington gets completely drunk after two or three glasses. You can drink with Oscar for quite a long time, but he is so taciturn that it's a waste of time to even do this with him – why should you drink with others when they pass out immediately or say no word?" Shaking her head, Cecelia refilled her glass. "Are you sure that you don't want anything?"
"I am. Ask me another time."
She grinned. "Oh, I cannot wait for it! First of all, I am very impressed that you have managed to return in one piece because, you see…" She looked him up and down. "… you are a wimp."
"A wimp?"
"Are you unhappy with this description? I can also offer 'asparagus.'"
"But didn't you do something like this as well and came back in one piece too? And you don't seem to be stronger than I am."
"My test was of a less physical nature," Cecelia said, taking a biscuit from the side table and dipping it into the wine before taking a bite. "Yours, however, was definitely of a physical one, albeit not entirely. Additionally, it was the first time that something went wrong. I am not surprised that Oscar was a bit sloppy with making sure that everything would go without complications because, after all, he does not like you. He would have rejoiced if you had died during the test. At the same time, however, I am surprised that he was so careless considering that he wouldn't risk Cloudia to be seriously harmed. No matter how odd this man is, the oddest thing about him is his fondness of our dear Cloudia.
"Anyway, if he wasn't careless, if he checked everything thoroughly, how did everything turn out the way it did? What couldn't be caught by Oscar Livingstone's radar? I still haven't talked to Cloudia, but you were there as well: Did you see anything peculiar?"
"I didn't see anything like that," Cedric answered, hoping that she couldn't detect the white lie, and Cecelia took another sip.
"We will eventually find out; I am sure of it. Now, let's get to the actual purpose of this conversation: Do you want to ask me specific questions about him or should I just tell you Oscar's life story at once?"
"How–"
"Don't pretend it's an art to combine that after having been to a place called 'Witch's Castle' you would want to know more about the bastard who sent you there in the first place. Of course, you would also want to know more about the place itself, but I'm afraid that, for now, I cannot help you with this. All I know are the boring parts which wouldn't answer any of your questions at all. At least, they didn't answer mine.
"And? Questions or full story?"
Cedric took a deep breath before he answered her. "Full story."
"I've expected you to say this; I don't believe your brain is currently able to ask the right, sophisticated questions – if it had ever been capable of doing so. Very well." Cecelia filled herself yet another glass. "What I am now telling you is everything I know about our beloved Oscar Livingstone. Like I've said before, it is his life story; however, it is not his complete life story. There are aspects and details I don't know, but I'm working on it to find them as well.
"Oscar Livingstone was born on December 24, 1798 – ironic, isn't it? This man could reveal himself to be the devil himself and I would not be surprised at all, and this particular man shares his birthday with Jesus Christ. How macabre the world can be!
"Anyway, on December 24, 1798, Oscar was born to Ealasaid and Ranald Livingstone somewhere in the Scottish countryside. Well, they were, at least, his official parents."
Cedric frowned. "His 'official' parents?"
"If you trust the rumours, Oscar's real father is, in fact, a wandering magician called Malcolm Fairbairn with whom his mother fell in love with. At that time, however, she was already betrothed to her cousin Ranald to secure their family's claim on their estate; Ealasaid was the only child of her parents, and as a girl, in matters of inheritance practically useless. Anyway, Ealasaid became pregnant and apparently even planned to elope with Fairbairn but he just vanished into the night and never returned. She was left heartbroken and was promptly married to her cousin. These are the juicy rumours, at least. It is hard to say if they are true – or, at least, partially. These rumours rose in the wake of… Well, I will get to this later. Anyway, the facts are that Ealasaid and Ranald were wed, she got pregnant, and he died a few weeks before his son's birth. Oscar was then raised by his grandparents because Ealasaid wasn't 'in her right mind to do so.'
"Ealasaid died in 1812, and the year afterwards, Oscar enlisted into the British Army. He was part of the 52nd Oxfordshire Regiment of Foot, a light infantry regiment."
"That explains why Cloudia called him 'Captain' once."
Cecelia nodded. "Anyway, he was still just an ensign when he was sent to fight in the Battle of Waterloo in 1815. His regiment stayed in France until 1818; then, they returned to Great Britain and were stationed in the Midlands. Apparently, Oscar was a magnificent soldier and quite helpful in Waterloo, but he was only promoted to lieutenant in 1820. One year later, his regiment was sent to Ireland, and in 1823, he surprisingly changed regiments and became part of the 43rd Monmouthshire Regiment of Foot which was then stationed in Gibraltar. And in 1825, Oscar was promoted to captain." Cecelia gulped down the wine in her glass and opened a new bottle.
"I hope you are aware of the fact that prior to 1829, there was no actual institution to fight crime in England. And when on September 29, 1829, Sir Robert Peel's heart project, the Metropolitan Police – or, well, Scotland Yard –, was formally formed, Oscar was one of its first members."
"For a moment, I thought you would say that he was one of its first caught criminals," said Cedric, and Cecelia smiled faintly at him before filling her glass yet again.
"He left the army in June 1829 – and went to become one of the most valuable members of Scotland Yard."
"Something tells me that I shouldn't have declined your offer from earlier."
"Bad for you. I think I need everything for myself," Cecelia replied. "But you are right: You shouldn't have because it's going to become seriously crazy now.
"Oscar was one of the first twenty Inspectors of Scotland Yard, but despite his successes, he was never promoted. And despite his silent, secretive nature, Oscar became one of the more well-known members of the Met. Can you imagine someone like Oscar as a public's darling?
"Of course, like in every other good story, Oscar did not work alone. C. Auguste Dupin has his nameless companion – and Oscar had Sergeant Douglas Corcoran. They were a brilliant team, and Corcoran, while he always teased Oscar in public, actually admired him. Apparently, the Met's Commissioners had tried to give Oscar other partners, but none of them lasted more than one or two days as Oscar's partner before they resigned. And then came Corcoran and the Commissioners' troubles were gone. The Met's little dream team was born – and then Corcoran committed suicide in October 1833.
"Douglas Corcoran was a happy and content person, a person who was quite beloved among the people – and when he died, it was disastrous. Everyone was grieving – and when the initial wave of mourning was over, Oscar was blamed for Corcoran's death. After all, didn't his former partners quit because they couldn't endure working with him? After all, couldn't it be that whatever had driven away his former partners ultimately drove Corcoran to kill himself?
"Of course, there was no evidence to support these claims, and Oscar continued working for Scotland Yard. He was still known and respected, but from that point on, people began to become more aware of him. Before, they had only looked at his achievements; now, they looked at the man himself. Not persistently, not with a lot of skill, but what matters is that they did. What matters was that this was the beginning of the end for him."
Cecelia put down her glass and the wine bottle and stood up to get something else.
"What do you think?" Cedric asked, his voice low. "Did Oscar drive his partner to suicide?"
"I don't want to fixate myself on an answer without having enough evidence, but I would say that it's very likely," Cecelia answered and returned with a bottle of absinthe. She opened it before she continued.
"For the next four years, London was tense when it came to Inspector Oscar Livingstone – and then, on November 20, 1837, the bomb finally exploded with his imprisonment. Apparently, they found very interesting things in a hidden compartment of his house's basement. Hidden compartments are never a good sign. It especially wasn't in this case.
"What exactly they found down there? It was never made public, but there are enough rumours to balance out this lack of information. It says a lot about someone when the public believes that the 'mildest' thing found in his basement was a bunch of corpses." Cecelia's hand trembled a bit when she raised the bottle to her mouth and drank. "I hope that you don't want to know about the other rumours – because I won't tell them to you," she said when she put the bottle down again. "Just marginally thinking about them makes me sick."
She took a deep breath. "Oscar was subsequently thrown into a prison before he was transferred to an asylum. Needlessly to say, Scotland Yard's reputation took serious damage following these events. Also, apart from the rumours regarding his hidden basement room, all sorts of rumours about Oscar came to be in the time after his imprisonment. The rumour about his heritage is one of them; it's also one of the most 'beloved' ones because bastards make even better targets for gossiping."
"If what he did was so terrible why wasn't he executed?" Cedric wanted to know.
"That's one of the things I cannot explain. There surely has to be an explanation for it, but, so far, I haven't been able to find it." Cecelia sighed and clenched her hands together. "For some reason, Oscar wasn't immediately executed – but he was set to be executed in 1843. And officially, he was; to London and the world, he is a dead man in every definition of the word. The truth is, however, that, for some reason, thirteen-year-old Cloudia Phantomhive had the marvellous idea to seek him out in his asylum and rescue him from the death row."
She shook her head. "It better be a damn good reason that of all the souls she chose to save was the Yard Ripper's."
Cedric pressed a hand to his mouth, feeling sick through and through. Cecelia moved her bottle back and forth. "I have many more questions regarding Oscar and his story – and while I long to solve this puzzle, I am also fearful to ever find answers to my questions. One of the questions that I haven't already mentioned to you and that I'm especially curious about is: When Oscar was still such a high-rated officer, why did the Met even search his house? And how did they even find the hidden compartment? We are, after all, speaking of Oscar; I cannot imagine that it had just been there: open and ready to be found."
She closed her eyes for a moment. "If we are done, it would be pleasant if you could go now, Not-Kristopher – I want to fully give myself to my spiritus and, as it's awfully inelegant and unladylike, I would rather not be watched," Cecelia said tiredly.
Part of him had enough and wanted to leave, but the rest forced Cedric to lower his hand from his mouth and stay for a little while longer. After all, he still had questions left.
"And what about you?"
"What about me?"
"What is your story?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you want to hear my story when you are unwilling to give me yours in exchange?"
"I cannot do this."
"This is a terrible bargain; a bargain nobody would take – unless you promise me to everything that is holy to you that, if you don't want to tell me now, that you will tell me before I die."
Cedric sighed. "Very well. I promise you this."
"To everything that is holy to you?"
"To everything that is holy to me."
"Wonderful. And don't imagine that I will forget this: I don't forget anything." Cecelia shifted a bit in her seat to sit slightly straighter. "My story is mostly uninteresting for you, so I will tell you only what is of interest: I had always been a girl who wanted not to know and see some things, but to know and see all things. Father could never understand this desire of mine; for him, I should only be pretty and marriageable. But I didn't want to marry any of the dimwits he suggested. Father was quite mad at me because of this, but, in the end, I did marry." A lovely, girlish smile appeared on Cecelia's lips, pushing away her gloominess from earlier. "He was a better man than any of those Father had picked; of higher rank and honour even, but to me, all that counted was that he did not think that I was odd. Michael didn't share this desire to want to know and see everything with me, wasn't quite as intelligent as I was, but he loved listening to me and was genuinely interested in everything I said too." Just as quickly as it had come, her smile vanished from her lips again. "Michael was an honest, friendly man. He had no enemies, no rivals. Nobody thought of him as a threat. Michael was this cute, clumsy fellow that everyone loved. And when his corpse was found in our townhouse on the day before my birthday, everybody was wondering who could have murdered him – and a murder it was. His throat was cut; he didn't just fall down the stairs…
"Michael told me everything just like I told him everything. We had no secrets from each other; he was the most honest person I know. He couldn't have got involved with some shady people without my knowledge."
Cecelia looked at Cedric. "I told you that I want to know everything – but I would give up everything I already know to finally find out who took Michael away from me. Because that's the only thing that matters to me – and one of the few things that I don't know. I've searched and searched for the last seven years for any clues, but all I could ever find was the following code: FT43. But I don't know if it's even really a code – and if it is, for what does it stand for? A place? A person? A group? An item? Or is it just a designation given to the case of Michael's murder? I don't know and there's nothing more frustrating than not knowing – I guess, this shared frustration is the reason why Cloudia and I get along so well." She rubbed her face. "And now, for the love of God, please go, Not-Kristopher."
Cedric stood up, but before he opened the door and stepped back into the corridor, he turned one last time to Cecelia.
"What do you want now?" she asked, annoyed.
"I have one more question: If you and Barrington know about Oscar, how can you even live to work with him?"
"Because of Cloudia and because pretending is a skill humans have learned masterfully."
Again, Cedric wandered through the manor, his mind stuffed with all sorts of new information and quite conflicting feelings.
Why did Cloudia save Oscar when she knew very well who he was? What kind of monster he was? Why did she let him go with everything? Why was he so sickeningly fond of her?
And what exactly had happened in Cloudia's room? Why did she send me away so abruptly?
Cecelia was right: There really was nothing more frustrating than not knowing.
Eventually, Cedric's feet carried him to the library where he let himself fall onto one of the soft chaise longue, and only then, did he realise how tired he was.
It was certainly odd to have an awake, restless mind and an exhausted body.
"How surprising that you have come to keep me company," Cedric heard someone say and he promptly fell off the chaise longue with a shriek.
"You are even entertaining me – how did I come to this honour?"
Cedric struggled to get up, pulling himself up on the chaise longue. When he was standing again, he looked around and found Oscar sitting in an armchair only a few steps away from him. How could he not have noticed that he was there?
"And?" he asked, and Cedric blinked at him.
"I have asked you something, and now, I am asking you to answer me."
"I am not talking to you."
"You already are," said Oscar, putting a bookmark in his novel, the same one he had been reading earlier as well, before closing it. With it in his hands, he walked into Cedric's direction. Instinctively, Cedric made a step backwards.
"Why are you so afraid of me?"
"Why shouldn't I be?"
A little smile appeared on his lips. "Good answer. I assume that Williams or Weaselton have informed you about me? I don't think that the Lady did, considering her current condition."
"All because of you."
"No matter what I will tell you about this matter, everything will fall on closed ears," Oscar said matter-of-factly. "But what did the others tell you in this matter? I would say that you are more inclined to put trust into their words than into mine – especially the Lady's."
"In this regard you are wrong: When it comes to you, I don't trust anyone, not even the Countess," Cedric meant, making Oscar chuckle.
"If you truly do not trust anyone in this building, why are you still here? Why did you not escape as soon as you realised that nothing would be done to punish me, as soon as you heard my tale? Why did you not escape to never return?"
Cedric looked into Oscar's eyes, not wanting to let him believe – or rather know – that he was intimidated by him. But now that he knew the story behind the darkness in Oscar's eyes, it was even more unbearable to gaze into it, and ultimately, Cedric had to look away again. And while he did so, he accidentally glimpsed at Oscar's book.
Paradise Lost. How fitting.
"Just like me, something is holding you here," Oscar continued to speak. "And I think your and my something, while not the same, are very similar."
"We are nothing alike."
With an amused smile on his lips, Oscar headed to the exit, and a shiver ran over Cedric when he walked past him.
"Oh, is that so?"
The chapter title comes from "The City of the Sea" by Edgar Allan Poe: "The waves have now a redder glow-/The hours are breathing faint and low-"
I'm really sorry. This chapter is most likely not what you expected... but everything that wasn't answered now will be answered later, I promise.
I hope.
The next chapter will be an intermission (?)/bridge chapter between Arc 3 and 4.