"At least Her Majesty finally got around to replacing the last one," Vanel says.
"Be polite," Lau says. He opens his warm brown eyes and looks at Ciel. "I heard you went missing," he says. "Did something terrible happen to you?"
"I'm the inappropriate one?" Vanel scoffs.
"What," Lau says, in seeming confusion, closing his eyes again. "It's an honest question."
"Now now," Viscount Druitt says, walking toward him. "This boy is our colleague. We should make him feel at home." He leans close to Ciel, crowding him and forcing Ciel to look into his odd violet eyes. "Hello, little Robin," he says, soft. "Your loveliness will bring the air of spring into this dull room."
"Er…" Ciel says, edging away from the man before he can caress his face. Stay away from him, he decides. Far, far away.
Undertaker laughs crazily.
"Oh, let go of him," Lau says mildly. "Come, sit next to me!" He gestures to an empty seat. Ciel takes the invitation, sitting awkwardly beside the pair. The silent woman who had first noticed him has climbed fully into Lau's lap, and the two of them are petting each other. She turns to him though, to whisper, "welcome," in a surprisingly low, intense voice.
"Uh, thanks," Ciel says.
"Oh yes," Lau says. "This is my sister, Ran-Mao."
/
"So," his aunt says. "I'm guessing it went badly, then?"
Ciel has been staring fixedly out of the window the entire carriage ride back to the townhouse, not acknowledging his fellow-passenger at all.
Ciel rubs one finger fretfully over his ring, the blue one that marks him as Ciel Phantomhive, Earl and Heir to the House of Phantomhive, and finally manages to speak, sounding cold and indifferent. "They weren't quite as impressive as I'd expected."
Aunt Anne's mouth twists. "I see," she says, as though she is reading more from his words than what he has said. He looks away before he can see pity in her eyes. If he were to, he thinks he might cry, and that is the one thing he will not allow himself to do, a weakness he cannot let himself exhibit.
When they finally get home, and Grell has helped his aunt out of the carriage, he asks about the event, pestering him until Angelina tells him sharply to quit it.
"It's fine," Ciel says, giving the butler his coat as they move into the drawing room. He finds vindictive satisfaction at describing every one of his fellow men of letters in the most unflattering light possible, until Grell, catching onto his mood, starts to decide with relish what gruesome deaths each of them deserve. That cheers him up somewhat, and Aunt Anne even laughs.
"My, what is going on here?" Sebastian says, with a small smile, as he enters with tea.
"Nothing at all, sir," Grell says innocently. "Just plots of murder." He moves to help, but Sebastian waves him off—Grell is clumsy at the best of times, and he seems particularly animated today, so that Ciel can clearly see Sebastian picturing the tea set going flying at one wrong movement of the other butler's arm.
"The Men of Letters didn't acquit themselves well then, I gather?" Sebastian says.
Ciel groans, flopping back against the couch. "It was awful," he says. "I honestly can't stand the sight of them. They spend half the time arguing about petty matters and the rest of the time pretending I don't exist."
"Ah, that explains it," Sebastian says, teasingly, as he hands him a cup and saucer. "The young lord couldn't stand not being the center of attention for once."
"Shut it," Ciel grumbles. "So, how are things proceeding?"
"The construction of the manor is off to a good start, apparently," Sebastian says. They had not lacked in volunteers from the men on the Phantomhive lands, and Ciel had spent some time finding one who seemed to carry some authority—and whose expertise he trusted—to oversee the process. He's not resting on his family name with them, for they all remember the way he had rid them of the monster that had been killing their children that winter. Sebastian then moves on to reports about the Funtom storefront in London, and that carries the conversation until dinnertime.
After dinner, Ciel begs leave of his aunt, claiming exhaustion, and so both she and her butler set off for their own home. With the amount of times they stay the night, and the fact that they come around almost every day, Ciel would almost invite them to live here, but the short moments of solitude are, he sometimes feels, the only thing that keeps him sane.
He sighs as he watches them drive off, and Sebastian closes the door.
"What of the other matter?" Ciel says.
"The Blackburn case? I reconnoitered, as you ordered, sir, but nothing appeared to be amiss. 'William Blackburn' was confined to his room and amused himself most of the day playing with toys. At lunchtime, his mother carried food in personally and fussed over him. He said nothing, though he looked resentful. I can't say the cause."
"Good," Ciel says. He's relieved that, at the very least, Jack's situation has not changed for the worse. Jack, the boy he befriended and who gave him such key input on his toy line, is for some unforeseen reason—and with his "parents" knowledge, posing as their actual son, William Blackburn, whom he looks like, and whom Ciel had met perhaps once or twice when he was a child. This he, and now Sebastian, know; although he has kept to himself the knowledge of Jack's true name. It seems as though it would be the greatest betrayal to reveal that, when it was given in confidence; especially considering his own situation. "I wonder when they will tire of that 'fever' excuse. He can't stay sick indefinitely."
"Unless they plan to turn him into an invalid," Sebastian says, and Ciel frowns. It reminds him too much of his own solitude as a child—the whole case reminds him too much of himself, and it leaves him more shaken than he would like to admit. He has explained his interest in the matter, to Sebastian, as being motivated by his feeling that there has been some crime committed in the household, which it is his duty as a citizen to inquire about, and Sebastian seems pacified by the excuse; but it is, he knows, more than that.
He and Sebastian play a desultory game of chess; Ciel's mind is too distracted to concentrate much. Sebastian gains the upper hand quickly, although at last Ciel manages to force a stalemate.
"Is there something about your meeting with the Men of Letters I should know about?" Sebastian says, when Ciel is preparing for bed. He has filled the bath and Ciel slips inside, relaxing into the warm water. "It seems to be on your mind."
"No," Ciel says. "Nothing, really."
Sebastian lathers soap into his hair, and Ciel looks out from under almost-closed lashes: everything is diamond, a blurred rainbow of light.
/
The inventory room is full of tall shelves, magical items labeled in the scrawl of initiates from years past. The Undertaker and Viscount Druitt are sitting at a table piled with metal boxes, a pot of paint and a pile of books beside them, drawing sigils. "Ah, there you are, little Robin," Druitt say with a beaming smile. "Have you any experience with curse boxes?"
"Not really," Ciel says warily, edging closer to Undertaker. "I know they neutralize whatever cursed magical items you put inside. But I've never made one."
"Well, when we bust the smuggling ring we will probably find at least a handful of cursed objects in the mix."
"Amateurs never take the care they should with relics," Undertaker muses, poking one of his long black fingernails against Ciel's cheek. "You'll probably be set to taking inventory, so remember not to touch anything if you want to keep all your body parts where they should be!" he laughs, and pulls an implement from a bag at his feet. "That's what these iron tongs are for."
"That's why we're making curse boxes," Druitt continues. He pushes one toward the edge of the table beside which Ciel stands. "This one's simple enough. I assume you can copy these sigils, sweet one?"
Ciel looks over the collection of sigils and nods, then picks up a brush.
/
"They're investigating a smuggling ring involving magical objects," Ciel says at last. "Next week they plan to make a bust on the perpetrators."
"Indeed?"
"There is a woman among them," Ciel adds. "Ran-Mao. Chinese—Lau claims her as his sister." He has met Lau before a handful of times: his predecessor had not been above interaction with key figures in the criminal underworld. Not to mention that he and Madam Red do turn up together at the oddest times. Ran-Mao, however, Ciel had not met till the evening before. "I think he means it in the fellowships sense," Ciel continues. "She isn't bad, though very quiet. She taught me some fighting forms in the martial arts tradition."
At that, Sebastian pauses, his soaped hands upon Ciel's head. Ciel imagines that, if he turned to look, he might see the demon's eyes flashing red, and he hides a smile.
"I shall teach you to shoot forthwith," Sebastian says. "It is something a gentleman ought to know. Perhaps after this case of theirs goes down, we can travel to the manor. It will serve a dual purpose, as we would need to inspect progress soon anyway."
"Hm," Ciel says, sleepily. "Are you jealous Ran-Mao is teaching me how to fight?"
"I have been reminded of a duty that I've been lax in fulfilling. It's not possible to practice here, so I put it out of mind. It was a misstep."
And, Ciel thinks, you still have not denied that you are jealous.
Ever since Sebastian admitted that the main reason he contracted with Ciel was to have the chance to mold him into the person Sebastian imagines he can be, Ciel has found himself interested in testing the boundaries of that possessiveness in subtle ways. It is, he thinks, almost a little game. He makes a move, and waits for Sebastian to respond. And with each response, he is building up more of an ability to predict and understand the demon's actions. It feels like an incredible manner of control, and it gives him a thrill of excitement every time he manages to make the right move. Sebastian is aware of it, he knows. But perhaps he, too, thinks it an enjoyable game. He has not stopped playing.
/
"What do you mean I'm not going to be in the field?" Ciel snaps. Once again the Men of Letters are in the library, some at the huge central table, others among the stacks or lounging on the thick leather-backed chairs.
"You just got initiated today," Vanel says. "What do you know about field-work? You'd be a liability."
"Why, you—" Ciel fumes.
Undertaker tuts. "So eager to go rushing into battle—do you want another Phantomhive corpse on your hands?"
Ciel clenches his jaw and gives Undertaker a burning look before turning on his heel and storming out of the room.
He's gotten to the shooting range and is trying to figure out how to load a gun when he sees that Ran-Mao has entered. She walks up to him without a word and takes the gun from his hands.
"You're angry," she says. "Bad time to shoot alone, when you don't know how."
"Let go of me," Ciel growls. "What do you know, anyway?" He can tell that she's right, and that only makes him more angry at her.
"Spar with me," Ran-Mao says.
"What?"
Before Ciel has finished speaking, Ran Mao has feinted toward him, and he ducks, scrambling to get away from her kick.
"What are you doing?" he shouts.
"Try it," Ran-Mao says.
"Whatever," Ciel says, turning to leave the room. He's done with this.
Before he can get a step away, though, Ran-Mao has somehow spun and knocked him down. Ciel's breath catches, and he is about to scream when she slides away, letting him get to his feet again. He glares at her and swings one arm wildly in her direction, but she catches his movement with what seems like the gentlest of gestures and has him staggering off-balance again.
"Try it," she says. She repeats the movement, slower, as though trying to get him to see how she had done what she did.
"Do you force every new initiate to spar with you?" Ciel bites out.
"No."
Her eyes are very serious, still unsettling. At last, she blinks, once, and he feels as though he has been freed from some strange enthrallment. No, he thinks. She probably didn't. The men out there would not have been in need of such a teaching, or else they wouldn't have been willing. But there's a casual disdain they extend to her that has been extended to him as well, because of his age and inexperience, and though it hurts his pride to admit it, he feels even more deeply the drive to be competent enough to overturn those assumptions, to become a full member of the Men of Letters. And that will—as Undertaker was so quick to point out—only happen with experience.
Clumsily, he copies the motion.
Ran-Mao moves again, still slowly, her eyes not leaving his own. He copies it again.
"Better," she says.
She doesn't speak again for the rest of what turns into a half-hour long session, and when she finally decides he's had enough, Ciel looks up from where he has fallen panting to the floor to find that Lau has found his way to the shooting range as well. Ran-Mao attaches herself to him with deceptively liquid movements, and Lau raises a hand to distractedly pat at her hair. "So you've taken the Phantomhive boy under your wing," he says, mildly. "How interesting."
.
.
.