By the time Ciel feels sufficiently recovered enough to return to the townhouse without rousing Aunt Anne's worry, it's nearly dark. All his thoughts about discreetly sneaking inside are dashed by the fact that she's waiting in the entrance hall in a state of nervous tension. She gasps when she sees him.
"My dear nephew, are you all right?"
"Perfectly all right, thank you," Ciel answers, glad that he is fully capable by now of walking on his own two feet, and of his poisoning symptoms only a lingering headache remains.
"But you've been ill!" she says, rushing forward to kneel before him, pressing a hand to his forehead and looking intently into his eyes as though checking for abnormalities.
"A little chloroform, and a carriage ride that didn't agree with me, nothing more," Ciel says. "I'm quite recovered though and Sebastian says it isn't too late for dinner?" he adds hopefully.
Aunt Anne laughs, and hugs him, and leans back with her eyes suspiciously bright. "Oh Ciel. Of course we shall have dinner. I'm sure Grell can manage it, if you'd like Sebastian to fill you a bath?"
"Yes, I think I should like that," Ciel says. So he waits while Sebastian goes to change into a clean uniform and then takes water from the kitchen the washing room with its large copper clawfoot tub.
When the bath is ready Sebastian fetches Ciel. He slides his coat from his arms, placing it out of the way, then takes off Ciel's own jacket. Ciel sits upon the nearby chair so that Sebastian may unbuckle his shoes, which Sebastian lines up neatly. Then Sebastian unclasps Ciel's leg-garters and rolls his stockings down, and unties the ribbon at Ciel's throat. Ciel doesn't pay any mind to this until Sebastian is at last unbuttoning his shirt, pausing in his motion for a sharp breath.
"Young master," he says, a little reproachfully, "you should have told me you were injured, I might have created a tincture."
Ciel looks down in surprise at the large bruise spreading across his side, finally recalling how his kidnapper had kicked him. Ciel hadn't thought much of it at the time, and is somewhat startled to see how bilious and dark the bruise has become. "Oh," he says. "It didn't bother me, or I would have done. It's just a bruise."
Their bodies had been a map of bruises in the cult, bruises and scrapes. The only part he could understand really: little scrapes with the skin scrubbed raw, little drops of blood, and bruises. These were things such as Ciel would always get after playing outdoors for hours, or fencing with Lizzy, or taking a nasty fall from his pony. He had never been put in such mundane danger or allowed to bruise, as though the weakness of his lungs, and his tendency toward fever, was a sickness that infected every part of him, turning him to porcelain.
"Oh?" Sebastian asks, curiously. "Does it not?" And pressing his gloved fingers to the hurt he presses down, until the dull ache flares up.
Ciel bats his hand away. "Oy! You don't have to do that!"
Sebastian leans back with a satisfied expression. "You know, young master, one might almost suspect you enjoy being kidnapped."
"That's ridiculous," Ciel says.
"Is it? This afternoon you got to taste danger while knowing deep down that you are quite safe indeed, and will be as long as our contract lasts."
And Ciel's gaze goes to Sebastian's mouth, which shows no sign of blistering at the words. A small, unacknowledged worry in his chest subsides. I know that already, he thinks. But it is still nice to hear it.
/
Soon they are packing to go into the country once again. They stay at the same inn they did last time, and are even given the same rooms; the blackened handprint of the shtriga on the sill of what had been Ciel's room has been sanded out somewhat unsuccessfully; Ciel takes a look at it and decides that this time, he'll take the other room.
When Ciel has heard all the gossip in the town and suffered through everyone's greetings, he and Sebastian finally make their way over to the manor. It's within walking distance of the old, burnt wreck; the stones that can be used are being carried over and new timbers are being placed.
"All seems to be going well," Sebastian says, after they have toured the building and talked with all the men there.
"Yes," Ciel says. "That's a relief."
They move at a distance from the building to practice shooting, in a nearby clearing in the woods. It's still cold, but the sun is shining warmly; Sebastian has brought a large bag with him, and from it he takes a hunting rifle as well as a smaller handgun. Ciel's eyes move to the handgun at once, and Sebastian smiles. "I think we'll begin with the rifle first," he says. He places a target a number of feet away and shows Ciel how to position himself.
"I've got it," Ciel says, becoming irritated at the way Sebastian seems to hover over him, endlessly correcting his posture.
"Young master, if you don't do it correctly, you're liable to—"
Ciel is ignoring him. The targets are close enough he could hit it with a dart; he's pointing the gun in the right direction, and he knows how the trigger works. He pulls it, and… oh. Oh dear.
Sebastian is sniggering behind him. Ciel, who has somehow found himself flat on his arse, is less amused.
"Bloody bastard," he snaps, but Sebastian's eyes are dancing.
"Really, my lord. If you had listened to me…"
Ciel is loathe to admit that this could be his own fault, but next try he lets Sebastian spend as much time as he wants placing his arms, making him stand there until he's trembling just from the exertion of holding himself steady.
"You're too tense," Sebastian says softly, leaning close in his ear, and Ciel jumps.
"I'm tired!" he says. "What's the idea keeping me standing here for so long?"
"If you'd like to stop," Sebastian suggests.
"You know that's not what I mean," Ciel grumbles.
"To wield a gun, you must have some amount of stamina, my lord," Sebastian says. "And the more you hold it, the more your muscles will remember the proper position."
"Let me guess," Ciel says caustically. "Lesson one is standing here for hours, before we pack up and leave."
Sebastian chuckles. "Not precisely, but you're not far off." He brings his arms around Ciel's shoulders, fixing his position on the gun, which has begun to slip as they talked. "I told you to relax," he says. "Building up good habits is extremely important. Shooting from a tense shoulder will only harm you in the long run."
"All right, I get it," Ciel says distractedly. He's trying, but somehow every time his mind wanders, his arm seizes up again. And Sebastian seems set on keeping him from concentrating.
"Very good," Sebastian says. He's still standing behind Ciel, just lightly touching the side of his arm, without pressure; Ciel feels like craning his neck to see him, but refrains—he can imagine what Sebastian would say to that. 'Young master, do you think you'll learn to shoot by looking in the opposite direction of what you're aiming for?' "Now, let me guide you this time. I'll put my hand here, like so…" Sebastian puts his hand atop Ciel's on the trigger, "and we shall pull together. Now that you've experienced the recoil, you should be able to brace yourself."
Ciel nods, his mouth set in concentration, and he looks toward the target.
"Three," Sebastian says. "Two, one… Ah, there!"
Ciel—or rather Sebastian—has managed to hit the center of the target. Still, Ciel can't help but feel some pride.
"Can I try again?" he says.
"Of course. Try pulling the trigger yourself this time. Don't concentrate too hard," Sebastian says, stepping away, as Ciel moves his hand awkwardly, trying to replicate the hold Sebastian had had. "Let your arm move naturally."
Ciel is too focused to say anything else sarcastic. He takes a deep breath, narrows his eyes, and pulls the trigger. A moment after, when he's gotten over the fact that he has, by some miracle, managed to remain standing, he frowns at the target. He's barely clipped the edge of it.
"It's adequate, for a first try," Sebastian says.
Ciel nods, and keeps going. He's never backed away from a challenge.
/
Ciel spends the rest of the week in a routine: after Sebastian wakes him up in the morning, and they progress downstairs for breakfast at the inn, they ride over to the manor with one of the men who are working on it, who take turns offering them a lift. They make rounds of the building, then Ciel learns to shoot, first with the rifle, then with the handgun, until lunchtime, and they go back to the inn. After that, Ciel answers business correspondence and has tea and a snack. He's surprised to realize that he's begun comparing other sweets to the one Sebastian makes, not always unfavourably—his butler is rapidly improving in his cookery skills. They forgo the usual lessons to work on what can only happen out in the country. Ciel struggles through his first ride on a horse (and his first fall off one. He had, at least, been saved from a nasty encounter with the ground by Sebastian's quick reflexes).
Every day, more of winter disappears. The grass begins to have a brighter, springier green; the sky even arrays itself, sometimes, in blue for the occasion. Ciel is surprised to find that this sudden constant activity doesn't displease him as much as he'd thought it might. There's hardly time to worry, or think too deeply about any one thing, and even when night falls, he is tired enough to fall asleep almost immediately, and he wakes from nightmares only a few times. His aunt sends him a wire or two full of gossip and day-to-day activity, and he answers with few words that he's doing well.
Of course, nothing this calm could ever last.
On the sixth day of their stay in the country, Elizabeth appears from a carriage right in the middle of the re-building project, Paula in tow, and proceeds to charm every last man around her, as she chatters to them all. His only consolation is that Aunt Frances hasn't shown up to terrorize them as well.
"Is this what you've been doing out here? Oh, how interesting!" Elizabeth says. "How does it work?"
"It's really not," Ciel says, while Sebastian takes the opportunity to show off and explain the architectural process in detail. Elizabeth hangs onto his every word, seeming much more interested in this than Ciel finds warranted. When Ciel tries to beg off to practice his shooting, Elizabeth squeals. "Oh, can I come and see? And can we have a picnic after?"
"A picnic?" Ciel says. "Why would you want to have a picnic, Elizabeth, it's cold."
"It's nice out!" Elizabeth chirps.
Ciel sighs. How did you tolerate her? he thinks to his brother, in fond exasperation. It surprises him that he doesn't feel more pain at the thought.
Elizabeth sits primly on a blanket, while Ciel shoots, managing, he thinks, to at least look passably like he knows what he's doing. He only misses the target entirely once, when Elizabeth sees fit to announce the arrival of a beautiful bird in the trees nearby, and, startled at the sudden noise, he loses his aim.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Elizabeth says. "Did I distract you?"
"No," Ciel says, trying to keep his temper. "Not at all. Please, continue." She is apparently in the middle of relaying to Sebastian, with help from Paula, some science fiction novel she had recently read, which leads to an intense discussion between the three of the possibility of alien life living in outer space.
Alien life? Ciel thinks. Don't we have enough to worry about just on this planet?
Lunchtime passes; Elizabeth and Sebastian turn to talk of poetry while Ciel eats with dedication and says only as much as he might be expected to, whenever he is addressed. Then, Elizabeth decides that they ought to ride together as well.
"Absolutely not," Ciel says.
"But Cieeeeeel!" Elizabeth whines, her eyes pleading.
"You haven't even told your mother you're here. If you took injury I think she might actually stab me," Ciel answers, which, at the very least, nips that idea in the bud.
At last Elizabeth says, regretfully (and not without some urging from Paula) that they ought to be going; but she adds, "I'll be sure to come visit you tomorrow as well!"
"Uh, I'm not sure that will be possible," Ciel says.
"Why not?" Elizabeth says, looking stricken.
"Well, I have to go back into town tomorrow… I have some urgent business there."
"Oh!" Elizabeth says. Then she falls silent for a moment. "I didn't know," she continues, in a low voice. "Of course, you must do what you must!" She grabs Paula by the arm and races them both away before Ciel can manage to get out another word.
"Urgent business?" Sebastian says, with studied innocence, packing up what remains of the picnic. "Has something come in the post I was not informed of?"
Ciel bites out a retort that, unfortunately (but not to his surprise) doesn't deter Sebastian at all. He has, at any rate, urgent business now: the urgent business of avoiding any and all Midfords for the foreseeable future.
Thus ends his trip to the country.
/
"Tell me, young master," Tanaka says, "how are things going? Is anything interesting happening?"
"Nothing much," Ciel says. He's sitting by Tanaka's bedside in the hospital, Sebastian standing behind him at his side.
"All right," Tanaka says, squeezing his hand lightly. "Now myself, I've been experiencing many interesting things… this morning, the light that came through this high window danced with a different tone than it had before. 'Ah!' I thought. 'Spring is not far away. I am sure that if I were able to be up and about, I would notice even further signs.'"
"…It's less cold," Ciel says.
Tanaka talks a little more, sporadically, about the nurses that tend to him; he has somehow managed to befriend each one, and relays with great care the relationships of each, the family struggles, the ambitions. Ciel finds himself interested in the stories in spite of himself, and when one of those long, silent moments falls in which Tanaka merely sits silently with a twinkle in his eye, he says suddenly, the realization coming to him out of nowhere in such a way that he is surprised he didn't think of it sooner, that he ought to have brought chess.
Tanaka chuckles. "Do you think an old man like me is ready to do battle again? Maybe… maybe…"
"I'll bring it next time," Ciel says, "and we can play!" He's more excited than he would admit at the prospect. Tanaka nods at him and then gives a sigh, stretching his arms.
"Ah," he says, with the slightest twinge of pain on his face. But he calms his breathing, closing his eyes and relaxing until at last he opens them once again. He doesn't speak the rest of Ciel's visit, but nods and smiles at the stories Ciel scrapes up to amuse him, until at last the two take their leave.
"I try to visit him every day, if I have a little time," Aunt Anne says that night. "Just for a few minutes or so." They have gotten to talking of the hospital; of Tanaka's stay, and of her own work. She complains about a particularly hard case she's gotten, a woman who, despite her surgery, is barely pulling through, and doesn't seem as though she'll make it.
"We've done all we can," his aunt says, "but there are just some times when even all your skills aren't enough."
"It's terrible," Grell says, thoughtfully. "If only there was something you could do."
Sebastian shrugs. "It's chance," he says. "There's no way you can be blamed for what is beyond your control."
/
Jack has—aided by Ciel's frequent hopeful knockings at the Blackburns' door to inquire—finally fully recovered from his "fever" and been allowed, with Mrs Blackburn's reluctant approval, to spend time with Ciel.
"I told 'er you'd already talked to me an' it would make you more suspicious if I didn't show," Jack says.
"Well, you're right," Ciel says. "It would have."
"Yeah, she figures you're just a little crazy out of grief, losin' yer whole family like that. I didn't know," Jack continues, more sombrely.
"It's… fine," Ciel says.
He doesn't like the considering way Jack is looking at him, as though he's trying to put together his own puzzle.
"What happened…" he finally manages to say, one afternoon when they have finished product testing a new toy, "to the real William Blackburn?"
"…Nuthin,'" Jack says shortly. "I'm William. Just like you're Ciel. And it's none'a your business."
Ciel frowns, and looks away. It's different with me, he thinks. I'm not… taking the place of some stranger. He was my brother. He'd understand. It's for him.
It stops him in his tracks, makes it so he can't push, even though he wants to. He feels keenly that whatever their situations are, it is different, in some fundamental way. The thought of the real William Blackburn, and what might have happened to him, haunts him. He doesn't think Jack was involved, even if there was foul play. He has an open nature, not cruel or cold. But just because Jack wasn't involved doesn't mean something terrible didn't happen. And because he can't talk about the real William Blackburn, he can't ask Jack what else is wrong. Especially when Jack acts like everything is fine. It irritates him.
Still, mystery aside, things are better now. Ciel, with Aunt Anne's help, even manages to persuade Mrs Blackburn to let them take Jack to Funtom to see the store. When they drive up, Jack's eyes grow wide. The lights, the big, friendly lettering, the enticing display, he points out everything—not without a few critical comments of what Ciel ought to change. Sometimes, Ciel thinks Jack acts almost like he owns the place with Ciel, but he can't find himself annoyed enough to mention it; not if it might mean Jack would stop talking about it altogether.
"This is great!" Jack says. "You really did it!" He stops for a moment, looking at the window display of the Bitter Rabbit with a smile, then tugs Ciel by the hand into the store. Seeing Jack's reactions makes the whole store seem new and different; he's never disappointed at the interior, but now, he's noticing things he hasn't before. He borrows a pencil from one of the counter clerks so he can make notes on his shirt-cuff—something Sebastian will surely scold him for—as he follows Jack around the displays. They marvel at what works, and stand in front of what's not quite right, arguing about it until they've finally come to something better, then Ciel waves over a few employees to shift the display around to the new specifications.
Then they loiter near the customers, Jack saying "take a look at this, ma'am!" or "Maybe she would be interested in this one…"
"How do you do it?" Ciel asks, after Jack has managed to make the fifth uncertain customer buy more than they had intended to, and seem happier in the process.
"I dunno," Jack says. "I've always been selling things, I guess. Even when I didn't have a thing worth selling. I'm good at it."
Ciel thinks of the newspaper boys on the street, calling out headlines in a loud voice, and looks at Jack, wondering. He could picture the boy doing that; it would explain his experience; the deft way he grabs attention and then keeps it, in a way that is more studied than just talent.
Jack laughs. "If it were up to you, you'd be out of luck! No one would buy a thing from a kid with a frown like that."
"I'm not trying to sell anything," Ciel protests.
"Bet you couldn't," Jack taunts.
"Yes I could," Ciel says.
They look at each other, eyes glinting.
"Fine," Jack says. "How many things we sell in three hours, starting from now." He spits on his hand. "Shake on it."
There's no need to do that, Ciel thinks, but shakes Jack's hand anyway. Then the game is on.
Ciel knows he'll never beat Jack with charisma, so he has to win by strategy. He tries to target the most wealthy looking patrons, the ones who look like they've come to make a large purchase, and introduces himself with facts about the fur used for this or that, the manufacturing of another, the charitable causes; those that stay enough to talk he hooks by bringing out from them ideas of the possible uses for these toys beyond the obvious (giving something to a child or a child's friend), to events they might create. He brings up themed parties, donations to orphanages, other ways to make a statement; he stresses the high quality of his products, the inherent status in them. He doesn't hook many, but at least two people walk out having bought five items, and one woman walks out with an order of fifty. When he and Jack meet up again at the end of the three hours, he's sold sixty-two items, while Jack has sold twenty-seven.
"Sixty-two?" Jack says. "You're kidding."
"I got one woman to buy fifty rabbits for charitable donations," Ciel admits.
"Oh, that's how," Jack says, sounding annoyed, but admiring despite himself.
They drive back in high spirits, chattering the whole way, while Aunt Anne looks on with tolerant amusement. Then they let Jack out at his door and he waves for a moment before dashing inside.
.
.
.