The chapter title refers to owling, which was the act of stealing sheep under cover of night.

Who was Sebastian Michaelis?

He was the crease in trousers so sharp, it seemed to have been made with a bone-folder; a collar that stood up as straight as if it had its own spine; cufflinks that reflected light as an eye did, and winked with as much character. He was the arm of a globe that showed back the world in a curved but otherwise perfect mirror; an Oriental carpet that gleamed as if newly woven; a banister so smooth beneath one's fingers, it may as well be ivory. He was the wisp of a candle that had just been snuffed out; a satin ribbon around the pale throat of a duchess; a stag's antler shorn of its velvet. He was the pheasant, the gravy, and the spices dappling its crackled brown skin.

Sebastian Michaelis was a butler. It was not so miraculous, when you played the part of a butler for some time, to find you had perfected the role. But within the span of this contract, Sebastian had become a thousand things more interesting, things he had not intended to become. He was a droplet of ink clinging to the well-worn nib of a favored pen; the shadow that existed between the painting and the wall it hung from; the inside seam of an opera glove. A needle of polished obsidian.

Who was Sebastian Michaelis? He was all of the above.

But that was the wrong question to be asking. The question to be asking was, Who was Corbin Bleu?

And so at once Sebastian's long-established acting career was traded in for one of improvisation. Who was Corbin Bleu? Why, that question was answered the very instant Corbin Bleu was born. Corbin Bleu was the sort who bowed a little sweepingly and flourished his wrist and snapped back upright like a mechanical soldier. His actions weren't so methodical but sometimes sharp and other times lackadaisical, as if he always knew what he meant to do without trying. And Corbin grinned beautifully. He wasn't so much a demon as he was a devil; and what did today's humans interpret the devil as but the king of persuasion, with a fiddler's bow instead of a scepter?

Alas, devil and demon shared one key trait: both Corbin Bleu and Sebastian Michaelis could not tell lies. A grand disadvantage when he was to convince a foe that he was an ally. But who was Gwilym Hastings? A man all too ready to be persuaded that the Grand Devil himself took interest in his scheme. A man who grinned when Sebastian gestured to a spindly-legged table he had conjured from smoke, and grinned wider when the cobbled stone beneath their feet turned to marble. A man who had been waiting all his life for some sign that he was special, he was memorable, he was worthy — and if not in the eyes of God than at least in the eyes of Satan.

Tiny chips of white light from a chandelier beset themselves in Hastings's dark eyes, which were wide with desire as they fixated on the demon who spoke in a voice like silken cream. He did not notice that Sebastian's own chocolate-red gaze shown with nothing but its own color. Everything in this room was an illusion, a simple spell. It had been some time since Sebastian had created such an elaborate falsehood. Ciel insisted every physical object be created by hand, a rule Sebastian had come to respect. But he'd been given permission to reveal "as much as is necessary to spark Hastings's interest" when it came to his demonhood. Illusions were within the realm of possibility.

Sebastian was not unfamiliar with humans who coveted approval. He had made contracts with them several times. Hastings fit that description in more ways than one. He assumed Sebastian's attention was a form of praise, and he was willing to accept that that was the case without Sebastian even having to say so. But perhaps Hastings wasn't so presumptive. The Sebastian of a hundred years ago, in his hunger, might have made a contract with such a man. He might have even liked the taste of his soul.

How dull and uninteresting an appetizer Hastings looked now.

"How long have you been watching me?" Hastings wanted to know. "When did you decide I was worthy of your aid?"

Sebastian's smile was like that of a cat observing a cornered mouse. Though he warned his own charge from developing such a habit, Sebastian had always been partial to playing with his food. And in the end, I'm not even going to eat this one. "I have not been observing you long. I wish I could have been… but you were not always easy to find."

"I was traveling for a bit. But that was all part of the plan." Hastings paused. "The plan… Do you know what it is, even? You must, or else you wouldn't be talking to me, would you? You can probably become invisible to the human eye whenever you please."

"I have done nothing of the sort," Corbin simpered. "What I've done… is caught whiff of your particular cunning. And now I'm here to watch your game play out." He leaned back and tapped the side of his jaw. "But I've never done well as a mere bystander where games are concerned. I prefer to be a player. And I choose to play for the side that interests me the most greatly."

"What about me interests you?" Again, Hastings was in want of attention.

"Now, now, my good man," Corbin tutted. "You are getting ahead of yourself. What interests me is your potential… not anything you have yet done. That's why I'm here. To be dealt in. My cards are all yours… once you tell me what game it is we're playing."

Speaking metaphorically was a grand loophole. It wasn't really a lie this way. Hastings could interpret what he wanted from the conversation, leaving Sebastian free to act as he pleased.

Hastings, who had been so eager to talk mere moments ago, paused for a second. "I want to repeat my question from before," he said. "How much… do you know? About what it is we're up to?"

At least in part, Corbin would have to come clean. "Well done, Mr. Hastings. You've caught me. The truth is, I only have an educated guess. Hence my curiosity… hence my desire to assist you."

"Give me your guess." It was a fair demand.

Corbin studied him with amusement. "From the evidence so far, it seems you may be running an illegal gambling operation that involves horse racing."

"Ha!" Hastings belted a single laugh, jumping out of his chair. He paced back and forth, grinning triumphantly. "Well this just proves it, then! First the Yard, and now the Devil! We've managed to keep it a secret from everyone! And here I thought it might all be over when Northcott passed… But then again, I guess everyone turns a blind eye where foreign children are concerned… and, apparently, local orphans just the same."

Corbin tilted his jaw down and smiled. It had been a while since he'd heard the late Northcott's name. "Very interesting. Then how far off the mark was I?"

Hastings clasped his hands at the small of his back. His grin was a wild one. "A gambling ring," he answered, "is nothing compared to what we've done. Demon, my men and I are going to change the world."

Sebastian's eyelids flickered with interest. He felt a throbbing inside him: his hunger. Finally, he smiled with his fangs at their sharpest.

"Well, then, master… Where shall I begin?"

Corbin Bleu was formally introduced to the boys at dinnertime. The boys were also introduced to him.

First, there was Cuthbert Whitby, that square-jawed lad who seemed determined to become Ciel's closest mate, his gaze intense but friendly when it fell on Sebastian. He had his sleeves rolled up and a brown flat-back cap angled jauntily over his forehead, as if he were more prepared to herd cattle than eat dinner.

Nelson Marlee was the boy Sebastian had saved when his horse lost control. Judging by appearances, he was the youngest of the five to pass the test. Indeed he was the smallest, though his ears seemed suited for a much larger head. He was looking all around the little dining room like he couldn't believe this was real, or that was real, or any of it was real.

Teddy Sutherland had thin brown hair that clung close to the scalp like that of Julius Caesar. Nothing else about his looks could be attributed to royalty. He brightened up an otherwise dull visage with a keen smile. His eyes were lidded and sad like a basset hound's. It was the sort of face one might see staring back at them on a poster, advertising collections for the Relief Society.

Trevor Browning was possibly the oldest of the boys, and acted like it too. He sat tall in his chair at the dining table and kept his delight reserved — but it still spangled in his large blue eyes. Sebastian smiled back at him with the same quaint grin he offered to Phantomhive guests. Such honest humans. A quartet of boys who felt like all their wishes had been granted. They certainly looked at Gwilym Hastings as if he were their own personal djinn; just the same way Hastings now looked at Corbin Bleu.

"And lastly, Astre Renault," said Hastings, gesturing to Ciel. "This afternoon's grand champion, I should say! What a race! What a technique! I'm sure you'll have a lot to teach the other boys. Won't you?"

"Certainly, sir!" Ciel beamed. When he acted that well, it was easy to remember why his Noah's Ark nickname had been 'Smile.' "I think we'll all have plenty to teach each other."

"Patch is modest," said Whit, knocking Ciel's arm with his own. "He's the best of us for sure. A regular don."

Confusion altered Ciel's grin ever so briefly, as if to say, A regular what?

"It looks as though you've picked your plates clean," Hastings continued with a laugh, hands on his hips. He was a fair actor, too. "I trust everything was to your liking?"

"Oh, yes, sir!" four of the boys chorused. Ciel nodded a beat after them. Sebastian noted his plate had a few scraps left on it. His was the only one that did. Sebastian almost let himself smile, recognizing that even Ciel's newfound hunger could not necessarily be swayed by imperfect cookery.

"Very good." Hastings clapped his hands together. "It's been a very exciting day for us, hasn't it? A new life is about to begin. So, I think we all should be at our best. Tonight you'll take baths and settle down in your new beds. You can sleep in as late as you like. We'll start the real work in two days' time, when you're fully rested."

"I'll be rested, sir! I could ride right now!" Little Marlee piped up.

Teddy and Trevor looked taken aback at the youngster's words. They had probably come from a workhouse or strict orphanage, where speaking without being spoken to was grounds for a punishment.

Hastings only smiled. "I knew there was a reason you won today! You're full of spitfire. Raring to start proving yourself a prime jockey. Then perhaps there will be time for some riding tomorrow. Whatever you all might like."

Excited glances were exchanged among the boys. Never had they had such freedom in their lives before, or known such reassurance.

"'scuse me, Mr. Hastings?" Whit raised his hand, as if he were in school, but didn't wait for an invitation to keep talking. "Could we draw straws t'see who gets t'go first for the bath? Probably best that we don't all get ta fightin' straight away."

"No need for that," Hastings said. "Each of you will have your own clean, hot bathwater to use. Corbin will see to it."

All but Ciel looked shocked and amazed to hear they would not have to share the same dirty water from one boy to the next. Ciel tried to look shocked and amazed, though the relief of having his own bath appeared to be the winning emotion on his dusty face.

Indoor plumbing was a relatively new feature in homes outside of England's major cities. Even twenty-four years ago, it had been a revolution for the middle and upper classes of London, and Banstead was just newly introduced. Hastings's own abode was a place in the midst of innovation. It was not a new building and could not handle some of the adaptations that plumbing circuitry required. For one thing, there were only four water sources on the property: the kitchen sink, a pump outside, the sink in the domestics' bathroom, and Hastings's bath, which was out of the question for use. For another, there was not a water heater, and so if one wanted to create enough warm water for the baths of four exceptionally dirty boys and one somewhat dirty boy, they would need to heat copious amounts of it at once.

So Sebastian did, in his usual innovative style and with a bit of flare.

Whit, Nelson, Teddy, and Trevor did not seem surprised that Corbin assisted them in cleaning themselves. Though they of course had never had a butler, they were likely very familiar with communal bathing, whether in a public bathhouse or merely in a sanctioned area outside their workhouse. Sebastian took them one at a time in a metal washtub in the kitchen's storeroom, where they at least had some privacy. But the boys were so happy to have their own clean water and fresh towel that they didn't seem to mind if someone ducked into the storeroom briefly to grab an ingredient for tomorrow's breakfast.

After Trevor had left the bathing area dressed in his nightshirt, Sebastian emptied the basin into the sink. He then went out to the fields to fetch the remaining tub from its blazing source, testing it with his finger — ninety-four degrees, just right — and brought in the huge container of steaming wellwater. Adelaide Hollingsworth would be displeased if she knew he hadn't any Turkish borax to add to the bath, but that was for manor living. Hard water was for the countryside.※

By the time Ciel came down to bathe, the rest of the Hastings staff had retired to bed, and the two were able to be alone. Regardless, Ciel chose to use French when he finally spoke.

"A bonfire," he said flatly as Sebastian began to undo the buttons on his shirt, the fabric of which had become a bit stiff with dirt and dry sweat. "That's how you heated up so much water at once? I saw it out the parlor window, near the Park Downs. It was huge. Did it remind you of hell?"

"The young master sounds tired," Sebastian deflected. "But how is Astre?"

"'Astre' had a fantastic day." Ciel allowed Sebastian to untie his beat-up shoes and peel them off his worn feet. "The 'young master' is tired — tired of smiling so damn much, that is."

The undressing finished in silence, and Ciel touched the water with his heel before quickly settling in. He needn't have tested it. Sebastian knew just what temperature the young master liked best, and knew it would be doubly important to get it right after such a grueling day.

"'Sebastian' seems as disgustingly self-satisfied as ever," Ciel began. He was definitely irritated, from the day and from having to squeeze into such a small metal basin just to bathe. He scowled as he tried to find a comfortable place to put his elbows. "'Corbin' must have gotten along swimmingly with Hastings then."

"Yes, I think Corbin did." Sebastian removed one arm from the water and began scrubbing at it with a creamy sponge that hadn't been used on any of the other boys. "I find Hastings a bit vain. But it seems he may have a few things in store for us, and in that, he inspires curiosity."

"'He inspires curiosity,'" Ciel repeated, a bit hotly. He held out a leg for Sebastian to wash. "So, he didn't reveal his entire plot to you?"

"No, he didn't. The less I knew, the happier he seemed to be. So I let him be happy."

"Tch!" Ciel swatted the surface of the water so it splashed at Sebastian. "Your contract with him is just a farce, if you recall. Letting him play around only complicates things on my end! Did you get anything worth knowing out of him or not?"

"He spoke briefly on Northcott." Sebastian lifted Ciel's other leg out of the water for him. "The way he talked, it seems as if Northcott's death was, in fact, an accident."

"Is that so?" Ciel was thoughtful. "Well. That's something to mull over. What else, then?"

Sebastian dipped his head but tilted his chin to look his young master in the eyes. "There is no gambling ring to speak of. There is, however, something in the works that is 'going to change the world.'"

That blue eye was quite interested now. "Change the world? What does Hastings mean by that?"

Sebastian shrugged with his typical grace. "He did not elaborate."

"You should have asked then," Ciel said, sounding irritated again.

"I suppose I should have," Sebastian said merely.

Ciel lowered his eyebrows thoughtfully. Then he leaned forward so swiftly that water rushed over the lip of the basin as he jabbed his finger into Sebastian's chest. "I should have guessed! You didn't ask him to elaborate because you're actually enjoying the drama, God damn it!"

"Such an accusation," Sebastian tutted. He removed Ciel's finger from his chest and started soaping up that outstretched arm. "Is it not my task to get Hastings to trust me? He may not be so pleased with me if I bullied the information out of him."

"I'm the one whose displeasure you need to worry about!" Ciel leaned his head all the way back over the rim of the metal basin, causing another small waterfall. He massaged his temple with the hand that wasn't currently being washed. "This is why I can't let you handle a case without me. If it were up to you, you'd just spend the whole time pussyfooting around until you got bored, and then you'd kill everyone before you could find out why they started this whole horse racing… thing, in the first place. If someone doesn't keep you on a leash, you'll wander off in the wrong direction."

"You can trust me more than that," Sebastian simpered. His gaze deepened. "Or, perhaps you should."

"Now what do you mean," Ciel groaned.

"What I mean," Sebastian began, "is that in two days' time, you are going to be drugged and kidnapped and taken to the other side of Banstead by cover of night, where at last you shall wake up in the Hundred Acres."

"The Hundred Acres?" Water sloshed when Ciel straightened up abruptly, froth puddling on the stonework, soaking into the knees of Sebastian's trousers. "But isn't that where—?"

"Yes," said Sebastian. "That is where."

The Hundred Acres was the location of the infamous Banstead Asylum. Theoretically, it wasn't so different from most asylums, but it was in how it functioned, as it was largely self-sufficient, and therefore visitors rarely came to the premises. Even more rarely did the patients leave, and many of them could not have spoken rationally about life there anyways, aside from the women who were accepted due to 'female hysteria.' The Lancashire City Council had been slowly taking command over such local hospices, but the Banstead Asylum was still privately owned. What went on there was largely unknown. But perhaps it wouldn't be unknown for much longer.

"Edward used to tell me and Lizzie made-up stories about the Hundred Acres to scare us," Ciel said as his hair was fluffed dry with a towel. "It has a reputation for admitting those whose families can't afford for them to go elsewhere. This is because all able-bodied patients are required to work: cooking, cleaning, farming and harvesting… whatever else there is to do. It's an interesting model, to be honest. But there's a shroud of darkness about any place that no one leaves. I don't like the idea of the asylum being connected to this case. I don't think it bodes well for the missing children at all." He paused to allow Sebastian to slip the nightshirt over his head. "After everyone in the house is asleep, I want you to go there. See if you can find anything unusual."

Sebastian bowed his head. "Certainly, my lord, if you think it best. Just remember that I can't lie. Should Hastings suspect I know anything about his plan, it might not bode well for us either."

"It will bode fine. You're just being dramatic," Ciel huffed. "Stop making a game out of this case, and solve it seriously. We can be done with this before we've even begun, depending on what you find at the asylum. Get there as soon as you have the chance, and scope the place out. That's an order—and it shouldn't have to be one, damn it!"

But there did end up being some trouble after all. When Sebastian had finished tidying up the makeshift bathing area, he returned to Hastings's side. The house was very quiet by then. The servants were bedded and so were the boys, who, despite their excitement over their new life, were exhausted enough to sleep soundly. As Sebastian passed by the upstairs parlor that had been converted into their sleeping quarters, he felt no stirrings from their souls, save that of his charge. Sebastian smiled ever so slightly. Perhaps the mattress was not as comfortable as Ciel's bed at home; perhaps the home itself was not comfortable enough a place to rest. Either way, beyond that door, beyond that wall, the boy was still awake, waiting in silence for his eyes to close or for night to end — whichever came first.

But Ciel was far from the only one awake on the grounds. In the master bedroom, Hastings remained alert, and outside so did his men, four of them stationed around the property, sniffing for danger. They need not be so guarded. Sebastian could sense for a quarter-mile around that the nearest living threats were not men but owls, toads, and hedgehogs.

Well… that was not entirely true. The nearest threat to his master was Mr. Hastings himself, and now Sebastian had arrived to serve him.

"Ah, there you are," the gentleman said, as he might greet an old friend, when Sebastian ventured in. Hastings was not yet in his nightclothes, but stood crisply dressed in a smoking jacket near a small table. The table and his wardrobe made the majority of the room. It was a fine master bedroom, for a Banstead manor at least, but rather paltry compared to estates built on old money. There was also a fireplace and a rug and a stag's head and a four-poster bed, with no awning or drapery, simple and masculine. It occurred to Sebastian then that Hastings was not married.

"It's not very good," Hastings suddenly continued, "but I'm having a glass of red, and you're welcome to partake." He poured for Sebastian without being asked, then held his own wine aloft. "To Algernon Northcott. A good man until he wasn't." Hastings sipped deeply, before adding, "Until he wasn't alive, I mean. He was always good, till the day he died."

Corbin raised an eyebrow "Oh? Was he?" He found himself sipping the wine, as he supposed a human's devil would enjoy wine, though it may as well have been pond water to him.

Hastings sighed. "Yes. Oftentimes too good. But he died doing what he loved."

"Which is to say…?" Corbin began.

Hastings put the glass down, sighed again. "Protecting the innocent." After a reminiscent pause, he then shrugged. "That's not why I'm toasting him, mind you. He was a devout man, but the best thing about him was his loyalty. That's his quality I miss the most. Well, perhaps one of the two qualities I miss the most. But I digress."

He gestured for Sebastian to sit down at the little table and joined him a moment after. His face was very serious, and then he laughed. "You are nothing like what the Grand Grimoire calls a demon," Hastings explained. "I've never read it myself, but I know people who have. You're not a monster. You look almost exactly like a human. Of what I can see, at least. But I suppose that you can change yourself into different shapes? You changed my own stables, for just a while, after all. You must be able to do whatever it is you like. Am I right?"

Unwilling to divulge a demon's most vital secrets, Corbin answered only the first question and left the second alone. "I can become what I wish to become, yes. I choose the form that I deem most convenient."

"You are a bit of a strange-looking fellow, though," Hastings said, then added, "What I mean is, you look like you belong to no country. It is hard to decipher your pedigree. You appear mostly English, but your hair and eyes are so dark."

"Indeed." Corbin's eyes flashed pink, for just a fraction of a moment. "There are some features I cannot alter completely. But never you mind them. Do you ask these questions about my appearance because you would like for me to turn into something else?"

"That's it." The red hair bounced just slightly along with its owner's nods. "I'd like you to go to the Hundred Acres and keep watch… That is, if it isn't too belittling of your stature?"

Sebastian huffed a small laugh out his nose, which Ciel would have immediately recognized as a sign that his demon found great humor in the situation. He'd been a dress-up doll for a flouncing aristocrat's daughter, trained a gaggle of untrainable fools, and had received all his orders (and punishments) from a child for the past four and a half years. Playing sentry was hardly a blow to his ego. "I am here to aid you, sir. If a guard dog is what you require, I shall become one, and go where you tell me to go."

Hastings gazed at him brightly. "How obliging of you!" he cheered. "Now I see why some folks are so interested in demons! You make for a fantastic servant. When I die, I should not feel so badly about you having my soul."

Sebastian blinked. "Eh?"

"Well, that's what you want, isn't it?" Hastings said plainly, as one might talk about the weather. "At the end of my life, I go with you to hell, don't I? I become your slave for all eternity, or something of that nature? We didn't exactly go over that when you first revealed your demonhood to me, but that is how the exchange works, isn't it?"

The demon stared, momentarily at a loss for words. "… Something of that nature," he finally managed to reiterate.

"I suppose we'll talk about the details of that later," Hastings said. "For now, I'd like you to keep an eye out for any suspicious characters around the Hundred Acres compound. And you don't literally have to be a guard dog. Be whatever creature allows you to best observe the area without finding yourself noticed. Can you do that?"

"With ease, sir," Corbin smiled.

"Ah, and one last little thing," Hastings added, with somewhat of a sheepish air. "Do not go inside any of the buildings. Particularly not the asylum's main hospital. Do I have your word?"

"You do," Corbin said, "though I'm quite curious why. If I may?"

Hastings laughed low in his throat. "It's where my team and I are doing our work," he said. "And I want to be with you when you see what it is. I don't want to miss your response. So do not attempt to discern the mystery." He lifted up his glimmering glass again. "And now I drink to you, my friend. To the beginning of something beautiful." His lips kissed the glass, and Hastings tossed back the beverage with the easy, greedy gulp of a younger man. To his credit, he did not look dazed after doing so.

Sebastian likewise took a careful sip. Convenient, that both true and false masters had the same plans in mind for him. Less convenient was the knowledge that the building holding all the answers would remain unexplored for tonight. But he couldn't be kept out forever.

The Hundred Acres was located about as far from Hastings's countryside manor as it could possibly be while still remaining in Banstead. For Sebastian, the journey was nothing. Beneath a pale dappling of stars and a crescent moon as delicate as onionskin, the demon and the darkness became one. Rolling hills and little farms disappeared beneath his impossible gait, and eventually so did the cozy village of Banstead itself. It was only two short miles outside of town to the place of childhood fears.

Eventually, Sebastian reached the road that most would follow on to Woodmansterne, and the thick trees that began the Hundred Acres territory. The little forest was like a barrier between the Banstead Asylum and the rest of the world. It certainly deflected most visitors, those few that had any reason to want to go there. Even the creatures of the night were quieter here. Sebastian was merely another soundless presence in this small corner of the world as he skimmed the treetops at his usual fantastic lope.

The trees broke not far into his travels. There stood the Banstead Asylum compound, a homely assortment of buildings made even more dull by the color of night. A large building of four stories was clearly the main hospital, stationed in the near-center of it all. Around it was a barn, two greenhouses, a scattering of sheds, and numerous gardens where able patients were to farm for their own produce. There was also a well, and a few other outbuildings for hanging meat or preserving pickled foodstuff, and, closer to the treeline, what appeared to be cottages, quite possibly for nurses when they weren't on-duty.

Ah, right: he was required to transform. He had agreed to become something that human eyes wouldn't notice. A rat would fit the bill, he decided, and he donned the guise as easily as a new uniform.

Sebastian had not been a creature so small in a while. Ciel was a unique contract in many ways, one being that he very infrequently asked Sebastian to transform himself. Up until now, it had been unusual for Sebastian to play one role for the crux of his employment. It was a dawning moment the first time he realized he no longer viewed Sebastian as a role at all, but more of a persona he could fully slip into. It was perhaps the only instance he'd ever felt that way in his ever-unwinding career as a true demon.

This knowledge would once have made his onset of sympathy an even more worrisome notion, but Sebastian distanced himself from it now. He had a job to do.

As he settled into this new but not unfamiliar body, Sebastian returned his focus to his senses. During his trip to the Hundred Acres, there had been nothing but explicable nocturnal noises around him; now he could hear and feel a sort of thrumming sound. After a moment of listening, he realized that he recognized it, a sound he had not often heard isolated until fairly recently: the sound of a single horse running its hardest. The strange part about it, the part that had kept Sebastian from pinpointing it immediately, was its oddly muffled quality. It was as if he were hearing the noise from inside a building… only he himself was outdoors. Did that mean-?

Footsteps. Running. Sebastian turned his petal-thin ears to those now. They were the doe-like steps of a small young woman, coming from one of the outbuildings. He darted in their direction, even after the running stopped, and found himself ten yards away from the exact sort of woman the footfalls betrayed. She hunched over herself, then fell to her knees, hands clamped over her ears. A middle-aged woman followed shortly after, still pulling a cardigan over her nightgown. Her hair was done up in a loose bun that must have been assembled in seconds.

"Dear, come back to bed," the older woman soothed, though she sounded a bit worried. The wind stirred the ends of her gown, and she shuddered against its chill. "You'll catch cold out here."

The younger woman, a patient to this nurse most likely, dropped her hands but didn't move. "I can't stand it, Elise," she said softly. "I need to get out of here. I wasn't mad when I arrived, but I'm becoming it now. That damn heartbeat. Why doesn't it stop? Why doesn't it stop? "

"Oh, dear." Elise paced closer. "Marie told me you ran away last night too. Is this why? Oh dear… I wish I could do something more… But you know it can't stop, love. Without it, you couldn't stay here. Neither could so many others. It's paying your way, so think no more of it."

"It's mocking me!" the woman continued, weeping now. "William's little heart couldn't beat on its own…"

Elise came to her, knelt down, and put an arm around her shoulder. "No one would dare mock you. You're too sweet of a girl. It wasn't your fault. God knows when to call His children home, even if it seems too soon…" When the patient continued to shake beneath her steady hand, Elise said, "Listen more closely, dearie. It's too fast for a heartbeat, even a babe's. We may not know what that sound is, but I can tell you what it isn't."

The woman finally raised her head. "If I knew what it was, it wouldn't bother me so much," she said resolutely.

"Shhh, now. Shhh. You know we can't ask that."

"But why can't we?"

"Because we've been told not to ask, and we must respect our benefactor's wishes. Perhaps it is for the best that we don't know. Please think of it that way. Won't you, love?"

The patient's voice turned to stone. "Yesterday I thought I heard a child screaming under the hospital."

Elise paused at that. "There are no children here. You must have imagined it. It is merely a construction project—"

"Why are these strangers helping us?" The woman shook her head in disbelief. "What do a town of invalids have to offer? I'm frightened of them. Whoever they are… and whatever they're doing in that basement… It's wicked. I can feel it. I don't want to hear those noises anymore." She covered her ears again.

Elise coaxed the patient to her bare feet and began shepherding her to the outbuilding they had both come from. "You need sleep, love. Tomorrow, you'll take a rest from the fields. If I have time, I'll come read to you… This is only your first week. Soon the noise will fade away, you'll see. We all get used to it. It just takes a little time. You just have to stop listening for it… that's all…"

Then the night was bare of human voices once more. But the heartbeat never ceased.

Sebastian returned to Hastings's manor just as the corners of the sky turned plummy with premature sunlight. It must have been around four in the morning, and farmers, the earliest risers of humanity, were letting their flocks out to graze upon the rich grass and chalk pits. It was this diet that made the sheep of the southeastern downs the most desirable flesh of their kind in all of England. It was, in fact, the only source of mutton Sebastian would entertain purchasing for his master's table. And speaking of his master…

As Sebastian touched down on the manor roof, he sensed again the souls of the sentries stationed in the woods, wavering but awake. The widest-awake soul belonged to the only guard dog who should be off-duty — and yet sleep had still not come to claim him. Sebastian felt a small smile climb his cheek (which was happily no longer that of a rat's). Even a long day of physical exertion and rowdy boys and playing at being a good little orphan was not enough to soften the shell of his young master's vigilance. If sleep hadn't come yet, it likely never would. All things considered, perhaps now was the best time for Sebastian to report to him on his findings at the Hundred Acres.

Sebastian usually only entered the sleeping area of his charge when it was requested. The young master felt, rather naturally, at his most vulnerable at night, and Sebastian's sudden arrival could startle him. Instead of appearing at his bedside like a phantom, Sebastian chose to enter the makeshift bedroom through its door, using a light footstep that he knew Ciel would still hear but also recognize was too light for a normal human to replicate. By the time Sebastian approached him, Ciel had stopped pretending to be asleep and was staring up at him inquisitively. Sebastian extended his hand as an offer to come with him. He expected Ciel to cock his head in question and hold out a hand of his own, waiting for a Morse code message on his palm that wouldn't wake the other boys. But Ciel didn't ask for an explanation about this visit. He stood to his feet and, after wrapping the boy up in one of the provided blankets, Sebastian carried him outdoors.

The night was cool, but not so cold that the blanket wouldn't protect Ciel from it. Outdoors was the safest place for them to talk without being overheard, in any case, and soon they were stationed back in the very tree they'd stood in yesterday morning, overlooking Hastings's property. They stared at the rolling countryside again as they conversed.

"So? What did you find?" Ciel asked. His voiced sounded low and rough from lack of sleep.

"Well," Sebastian began, "for starters, I think I've found where they're keeping the boys."

Ciel looked mildly stunned. "You found it? Already? Well, then let's go get them! The sooner we're done with this, the better!"

"There will be some difficulties in moving ahead swiftly," Sebastian reminded. "For starters, I'm under Hastings's orders still. And he seems so enamored with his plot that he's asked me not to go into the Hundred Acres' Hospital until he can be present alongside me. Unfortunately, I believe this to be the location the boys are being kept at — along with the racehorses."

"… They're keeping racehorses inside the hospital?" Ciel's eyebrows drew together. "That's not a question I ever thought I'd have to ask… but is that true? What are they doing in there? What's the purpose of hiding the horses?"

"I couldn't say for certain," Sebastian began, "but I can tell you one interesting tidbit: the horses are being ridden inside the hospital as well."

Now Ciel looked truly perplexed. "Ridden?" he finally said. "Wh… How? How is there any room?"

"I'm not entirely certain, sir, but I have a theory: that your assumption of an underground racetrack might have actually been right on the nose."

It clicked into place then. "… It's literally underground. It's in the basement." Ciel turned to look directly up at Sebastian. "There still shouldn't be enough room. This is ridiculous. What the hell is going on in there? Are you sure they're riding horses?"

"I was not allowed to look inside, as per Hastings request—"

"Can't I overrule that?" Ciel interrupted.

"Certainly, sir, but recall that I can't lie? If Hastings were to ask—"

A second interruption. "Forget Hastings. We know where this madness is happening now. Let's go there and take care of things."

"Perhaps you are too tired to think rationally," Sebastian prompted. "What good would it do us now? We're building our reputations with Hastings. Let me feed his ego and learn a bit more about his plot. Once we reveal ourselves, we may never learn anything of substance about why these oddities are happening."

Ciel looked a bit miffed to be told he was 'too tired' to do something, but relented at that logic. "You're right. I'm just getting ahead of myself because I already don't want to be here anymore. But I'll look like an idiot if I can't explain to the Queen what Hastings's grand design is."

"There was one other thing I discovered," Sebastian said. "Whatever is happening with the horses and the boys is supplying the Hundred Acres with funds to host many of its patients." Here he repeated the overheard conversation between the woman and her nurse.

"More charity," Ciel said when Sebastian was done. "The hospital is letting Hastings's men do whatever they want because of the money... Little do they know what they're hosting right under their own feet. Little do any of us know. Well, somebody there must have an inkling of what's going on, even if the nurses don't. And either that person is being paid off to keep it quiet or is being blackmailed."

Sebastian nodded his agreement. "I'll see what I can tempt further out of Hastings. He's an odd one, for certain... I should mention that the well-being of his men seems important to him. When I visited him in his chambers, he was toasting Northcott's partnership. It gives me cause to believe that there was no foul play when it came to Northcott's demise."

"That's interesting. I don't know how important it is yet, but it is in…teresting." Ciel split off mid-word to yawn, then looked annoyed. "Damn it. I'm exhausted but I just can't fall asleep. This always happens when I'm in some new place, I don't know why I expected it would be any different this time."

The butler bowed his head. "My apologies, sir. If I knew how to help, I would do it." Or did he know? Sebastian's thoughts circled back to yesterday morning, when he carried Ciel to this very location. The boy had slept then, untroubled, despite the day ahead and the movement beneath him — or was it because of the movement beneath him? Rocked to sleep, as any child would be, only with speeds and motions more comparable to a scenic railway.※※ Seeing Ciel blink sleepily, Sebastian found himself offering, "Perhaps the young master would like to join me on surveillance?"

"… All right. It's better than just lying there waiting for sunrise, anyway." Ciel pulled the blanket more tightly around his shoulders, and Sebastian leapt nimbly off into the darkness.

The wind rushed over them as Sebastian wove an odd path through the boundary of the forest, moving carefully for the sake of his passenger, yet not at all surprising the boy as they traversed open air for twenty-foot stretches at a time. For the first five minutes, Ciel was as alert as ever. Just as Sebastian was beginning to worry that his method was faulty, the exposed eye began to droop, then close, and within moments, the body that was constantly tensed for anything became gentle and limp.

Sebastian decided he had been correct this morning when he assumed that their contractual bond brought both master and demon comfort. It was an observation he took light interest in — until Undertaker's words returned, beating down the door of his thoughts. "Consider that you are growing soft for the little Phantomhive boy… That weakens your judgment. And it weakens you…The Earl has promised you something… But if you really cared for the boy… you might not want that promised something very much anymore. And then… someone else could be free to take it. "

Sebastian's arms tightened just slightly around his charge, feeling suddenly possessive. He did not like the thought that someone could be intruding on his territory, and he especially didn't like the idea that his own mind could be manipulated. Was he "growing soft"? Or was he merely concerned with the boy's mental state because the soul was ultimately going to be his meal? That to guide Ciel through these difficult times would get the boy closer to reaching his revenge, and therefore get Sebastian closer to his reward?

The soul.

Yes, he still wanted it. And nothing else mattered as long as he wanted it. It meant he was still a demon. It meant he wasn't lost.

In spite of that, he determined the best course of action was to return Ciel to his bed and remain alone until morning truly arrived.

When he came in through the servant's kitchen entrance, the house was peacefully silent. Each soul that slept within its walls did so without fear. Sebastian met no one on the stairwell or in the halls. He returned to the bedroom and placed Ciel gently back down without disturbing him or any of the other boys. As he turned to leave, he pretended he didn't notice the way Ciel curled into himself a bit more tightly, how his eyebrows lowered a fraction or how he mumbled a few not-quite-words in his sleep.

Right outside the parlor's double doors was a huge window overlooking yesterday's racetrack. Sebastian raised his head, squared his shoulders, and folded his arms behind his back. Outside, the sky was turning to amethyst and cream. Day two of the mission was beginning.

※: Adelaide Hollingsworth was an author of household management books in the 1890s, most likely a little after this story takes place, in fact. There is a surprisingly small amount of information about her available online.

※※: The precursor to roller coasters, it was nowhere near as exciting or fast, but it was at least an amusement park ride that involved going up and down gradual inclines at speeds of about 30-40 mph.