Coattails

by The-Pied-Avocet

Adolescence is the dormant rose of winter: a prickled, ugly, tangled mess of vines and thorns, with flowers promised only in the distant spring. "Spring" seems so far off to the demon that must console his angry, hurting charge in the midst of puberty - but it will come, and not without a price that they both must pay.

31. The Grip

Sheepdogs are not supposed to bite ("grip") the sheep. However, sometimes a sheep will be so stubborn to obey that the dog will decide there is no other option but this.

---

If Sebastian had known September would be their last month of peace for some time yet, he would have treasured those precious weeks more dearly. The midst of the month seemed to be a time of simplicity and routine, two aspects that Sebastian only remembered to miss when they were gone, as humans did with the leaves fallen from the oaks and the swallows off to Namibia. But in September, the leaves yet shone green, the swallows sliced the air, and the young master was as much a season in flux as the early autumn beyond the manor windows.

"I'm hungry," Ciel announced as he stood before the kitchen work table one afternoon.

Sebastian stopped chopping the celery on the board before him. "Dinner shall be served in ninety minutes, my lord," he said. "Can you wait until then?"

Ciel shook his head, with an impish glint in his eye that put Sebastian on his guard. "No, I'm hungry now. I want something sweet."

It couldn't be more plain where this was going. Regardless, Sebastian returned his attention to the mirepoix for the court-bouillon and attempted to deflect. "In a moment, I can polish and divide an apple for you. Old Man Sam delivered a bushel of Ribston pippins the other day that looked perfectly ready to be eaten."

"I'm not interested in having an apple. I want more shortbread."

"You seemed satisfied with the amount you were given at afternoon tea."

"That was two hours ago. Don't argue with me about my own hunger. I need something filling, and shortbread is good for that."

"I shall prepare a sandwich for you then. Shortbread is not very healthy, as you well know. It is meant to be eaten selectively."

"I'm going to eat shortbread," Ciel announced, though he stood firmly in place.

Sebastian raised his eyebrow. "You have made up your mind, I see."

Ciel raised his chin. "You haven't succeeded in changing it."

And yet still Ciel didn't move from where he stood. Ah. This argument was clearly more than an appeal for dessert: this was another test.

It would be best not to engage in a power struggle. Sebastian put his palms atop the table and addressed the boy with a frank composure. "Young master, I am not capable of changing your mind, nor is anyone else. I am only capable of instruction. Whether you choose to follow it or not is up to you, in the end. But I provide this instruction as someone who is dedicated to your well-being and health. With that in mind, I hope you'll grant my suggestion some seriousness."

Ciel considered this thoughtfully, though he asked, "You're saying that you wouldn't do anything to stop me if I went to get the shortbread for myself?"

"I don't condone it. But I am not convinced there is much I could do, other than to voice my disapproval."

A smirk. "You used to scold me."

"Yes. And you used to listen when I scolded you."

"..." Ciel made a sudden sour expression that said he wasn't prepared for that answer. The proud chin was lowered with displeasure. Sebastian felt a dawning thought. Is he wanting me to try and hold some authority with him? It was a shocking idea, and yet, could it be true? The scoldings Sebastian had once administered liberally had stopped working their magic back in February. Ciel had suddenly decided he didn't want to obey anymore, and Sebastian had decided to let this phase of rebellion run its course — at least until Ciel had made himself sick with champagne. Sebastian had slowly been rebuilding and redefining their bond ever since. But he often felt his own powerlessness.

Throughout his entire millennia as a demon, Sebastian had been able to rely on coercion and subtle fear tactics to control his charges. For the first four years of this contract, he'd done just the same with Ciel — and then for the past few months, he'd switched over to gentleness for the first time in his life. But in truth, gentleness didn't always do the trick. Sometimes the boy had needed a well-meaning nudge in the right direction against his own judgment. Ciel had even admitted as much himself after the Funtom Convention. "Maybe I was too hasty when I called off our nightly meetings. But the thing is, I hated them sometimes too. I didn't always want to have them. But I didn't have a choice in it really. And sometimes actually I think it felt better that I didn't have a choice, but other times I hated you for it."

Ciel was only fourteen years old. He relied on a butler, and occasionally even requested a demon. But what he indisputably needed was a parent.

And so that settled it. "I can prepare you an apple or a sandwich, or perhaps another snack that excludes cane sugar," Sebastian said firmly, arms behind his back. "I'm afraid anything else is simply out of the question."

Ciel had glanced up at this resolute speech, scrutinizing. He opened his mouth as if to argue, then closed it again. Opened it again. "But I could just order you to…" Closed it again. Furrowed his brow and frowned. Sebastian could not help smiling to himself while Ciel's attention was directed at the worktable. Old habits die hard, don't they, little firebrand? he thought fondly as Ciel's frown only deepened. The boy was trying so very, very hard to allow himself to be parented! It was as heartbreaking as it was adorable.

Finally, an internal consensus was reached. "An apple's fine, I guess," Ciel grumbled.

Another success, hard won on both sides. Sebastian could have celebrated aloud but instead only dipped his head. "I'm sure you'll find it more than fine. You may be pleased to retain some of your hunger anyway, as yesterday morning we were delivered a turbot of such striking quality that even you may be tempted to eat more than the fins."※

Ciel turned to go. "It had better be of striking quality. I don't like fish as much as other things. So let Tanaka and the others have some of it too. I would hate to be eating leftovers for more than a day."

What a relief it was to maintain the upper hand! It made Sebastian wonder if Ciel felt the same kind of relief for the opposite reason. Human children were designed to be parented, so was it not soothing for them to be? Maybe not if the child was out of practice… but if he were growing accustomed to it, perhaps then…

Even the troubles of the month were mild in nature. Half a week after their talk in the kitchen came the day that Ciel would be interviewing his potential tutor in political economy, the same fellow Edward had recommended. Unfortunately, Ciel had managed to sleep on his hair in such a way that a particular section along the back refused to lie flat. Sebastian had been attempting to tame this bedhead with brush, comb, water, and even his hands for the past fifteen minutes, but its refusal to behave seemed absolute.

"This won't do." Sebastian put his hands on his hips, huffing out his nose in mild exasperation. "Your hair is far too short to try and straighten it with heat. And I don't suppose you'd be open to using a pomatum?"

Ciel shook his head minutely. "Definitely not. I hate how it makes my hair look, and it always smells awful."

"I believe we may be out of luck then," Sebastian hated to admit. He smoothed his gloved fingers over the disobedient patch of hair as if the hundredth try would finally work its magic. It was as stubborn as the young master it belonged to. A thought dawned. "Perhaps the pressure of your eyepatch string may manage to obscure the effect somewhat. What do you think?"

"... Hm?" Ciel looked distracted in the mirror, his eyes somewhat glassed over. He blinked his attention back. "Uh, I'm sure that'll be fine… And it's not as if I expect Mr. Whitaker to be looking much at the back of my head anyway."

But still, up until Mr. Whitaker's arrival at noon, Sebastian's fixation with that which he could not alter was unshakeable. The eye patch's string did serve to press down upon the strands enough that the average human may not have paid the cowlick any mind, but that was only as long as the string stayed in the right place. During breakfast and morning tea, Sebastian found himself unable to keep away when he saw the string had been jostled from its proper position, and he'd move over to fuss and fret over the hair, trying to pat it down with his fingers in another futile attempt, before again giving up and retying the eye patch. Fortunately, Ciel allowed his butler this obsession without complaint; perhaps he too was just as concerned…

But noon came, and so did Cyril Whitaker, a man who looked as kempt as perhaps a hundred-odd pounds a year could afford to make him. He was in his mid-thirties and dressed in a tweed suit, and his eyes were large and flighty as a rabbit's behind his oval glasses. Still, he sat before lord and butler with a straight posture that said he was at least brave enough to see this interview through. Fortunate, as he was the only tutor they had lined up: in an attempt to exclude applicants who were more interested in Phantomhive money than their own course of study, Ciel had not attached his name to any of his outreach. It was only after Whitaker had passed along his credentials to Edward that Ciel had made his address known.

"Are you surprised to learn that your student could also be your employer?" Ciel said after the brief opening pleasantries. There was a smirk in his voice that Sebastian could more hear than see from his current position behind his master's shoulder.

Mr. Whitaker adjusted his glasses. "I was not expecting it, I'll admit that, my lord," he said. "But if you are wondering if it concerns me, then you should know that your reputation precedes you. I understand you to be quite an able businessman already."

"... Mm." Ciel picked up the page of credentials he'd received from Edward off the table. "If my reputation really does precede me, I'm surprised that notion was the standout. Anyway, let me go over your work history with you. You're currently employed as a clerk for a census enumerator… but you've never had any professorial experience in tutoring. So honestly, what makes you think you're qualified for this?"

Whitaker chuckled jovially, sheepishly. "Well, Lord Midford's son told me you were looking for someone who couldn't make political economy boring, and I think that would be me! And I do agree that it can be presented as an awfully dry subject, especially when viewed with such a broad lens, but… I imagine you would have an especial interest in the social welfare aspects. And I think Walras's work alone would be worth exploring, but I know you're already familiar with Alfred Marshall, so his new book is probably the ideal starting point."

Ciel shrugged. "I don't really know what 'the ideal starting point' would be. I'll leave that up to you to decide." Though this was said in an apathetic way, Sebastian knew that wording was promising for Whitaker. Ciel continued. "Even without a shred of teaching experience, I see you've at least bothered to get your ideas published. Let's see… I have no idea what Murray's Magazine is, so that means nothing to me… The Statist, I think I've heard of that… Ah, that's right. You were published in The Nineteenth Century. That's rather noteworthy." This was offered not without some earnest regard for the man across from him.

"Yes, I was! Mind, the Metaphysical Society tore me to pieces in the next issue," Whitaker admitted, with a slight laugh as if he himself still wasn't sure how to feel about the whole event.

Ciel waved his hand to the side. "All the better. That journal is so clearly steeped in nepotism, your essay had to be twice as good as anybody else's to get in. And if the Metaphysical Society※※ hated it, that means you weren't singing your praises to theism? Good, good. I don't care to know your feelings on religion, truly. If you can't leave that at the door, we aren't going to get along. Can you manage that?"

"Oh! Yes, absolutely!"

"Good." Ciel opened his ledger and began writing before he'd even confirmed dates with Whitaker, knowing the man's answer wouldn't be anything but yes. "I'll give you a trial run starting next week at three pounds a lesson, Monday, Wednesday, Friday. If, and only if, I find you talented enough, we'll increase that number to five pounds. Then you would probably feel most comfortable moving to the village as soon as possible, to lower commute time… Does that all sound reasonable?" Ciel looked up, nonchalant.

The man's jaw had dropped long ago. "Yes! Yes, that sounds quite reasonable indeed!" he finally managed to squeak.

"I'm paying you a lot of money." Ciel pointed at Whitaker with the end of his pencil. "That means I truly expect your lessons to be worthwhile. I'm not an easy pupil. But if you are able to keep me interested and engaged, and if you're able to teach me a lot of useful information in a constructive way, then we may get along. Understood?"

It was understood. Whitaker had a trial period, and he left with quite a spring in his step. While the future of his career wasn't necessarily certain, Ciel said to Sebastian afterwards, "He seemed fine enough. I sort of appreciate that he hasn't been through the pupil-teacher system. Most of the tutors who come out of that are so beaten down from being treated like an indentured servant that they're ready to make their students as miserable as they were.※※※ I'd rather have a teacher who's actually excited about their subject."

Sebastian nodded. "That is good thinking. And we both know that you have a particular interest in hiring those who do not walk the beaten path."

Ciel shrugged his way into a stretch. "I just like interesting people. I don't think that's such a strange thing."

"Not strange, no… but perhaps it is part of what makes you an interesting person too," Sebastian said with a half-smile. Ciel seemed to pretend not to hear him. He was taking out some paperwork from a lower drawer that he'd put away before the interview. From this angle, Sebastian got a unimpeded glimpse of the back of his head — those unruly strands of hair had come out from under the eye patch string once more. When Ciel sat back up, Sebastian tended to the matter at once. "Ah, this again… What a tiresome business this must be for you. Your hair isn't usually so uncooperative… You must have slept in the same position for a very long time for this to happen."

Ciel was unmoving as he allowed Sebastian to undo the eye patch for the fourth time that day. "… I guess…"

Sebastian smoothed away at the spot for the fourth time too. He was a little frustrated with it and kept imagining it would suddenly obey if he persisted… he wasn't used to feeling so useless in these types of situations. He clucked his tongue; it really was so stubborn…

"Ah." Abruptly, Sebastian realized he had been thoughtlessly worrying at the spot for nearly a minute. "My apologies, sir. I'm afraid I was distracted trying to think up a solution for this… I will retie the eye patch for you now."

"… Mm, I don't really care," Ciel mumbled after a moment. Sebastian was then aware that the boy had been stock-still and quiet throughout the whole process of having his hair touched at. "If you just have to fix the eye patch sometimes, then that's all there is to it…"

"There must be some way that is less of a hassle for you." Sebastian finished marrying the two perfect loops of leather string. "I know I've been rather troublesome today. My apologies."

Ciel shrugged lightly. "It can't be helped, so you can just do whatever you want about it."

After dismissing himself, Sebastian went off to begin lunch preparations, but not without an idea blooming at the forefront of his mind. He had expected Ciel to be swatting him off and complaining, but instead the young master had sat and allowed Sebastian to attempt to flatten down his hair. The origin of this tolerance was a curiosity… Ciel was always quick to be surly with Sebastian when he wanted to be left alone. Which meant that he hadn't wanted to be left alone.

Did that mean… Was it possible that Ciel had enjoyed that very gentle sort of attention? The soft stroking on the back of his skull mollifying him as it would any young creature to the ministrations of its parent? The notion was a powerful one. It was enough to make Sebastian pause and look back in the direction of the door he'd just left. He knew that boy well. That boy would have assuredly put a stop to Sebastian's primping if that was what he wanted. He'd wanted the opposite.

Bard scratched Finny's head all the time. Of course! Bard had been a father once. Clearly children wanted that sort of care. Sebastian tutted at himself. He should have recognized what was happening sooner. But this opportunity would disappear as soon as the bedhead mended itself with time. And Ciel was not as accepting as Finny. Sebastian knew ruffling the young master's hair on any other day would only result in a sharp, "What the hell are you doing?!" Without an excuse, Ciel never would have allowed the coddling to last this long, even with how much he wanted and needed it.

Ah, what to do… It was a sad fact, but it appeared that for now there was nothing to fill this void but the hair brushings and washings that were already conducted each day. Perhaps eventually they would reach the point that Ciel could ask for what he needed without fear or guilt. Sebastian nodded to himself, determined to make it so, as best he could.

But for all the boy's need for tenderness, Sebastian was too reminded of how reckless youths could be.

It was a few evenings after the day of the interview with Cyril Whitaker. Mere moments into the evening bath, Sebastian's eye was caught by it: a fresh purple bruise that had appeared on the side of the young master's thigh. "What is that? " Sebastian gasped as he saw it, unintentionally managing to startle Ciel. He tried again more gently, "What's happened here? Did one of the horses do this?"

Now that Avalon's confidence had returned, Syson had proven himself the latest recipient of Bard's obedience training. The way the hackney horse had bullied Ciel out in the field proved he needed reminding of who was in charge. Bard had been working with Ciel and Syson to restore the balance, and as far as Sebastian knew the instruction had been going well. But had there been another kick?

Ciel looked down at his leg and thumbed at the mark. "I didn't notice it because it doesn't even hurt," he admitted, lowering himself into the water. "It doesn't feel like anything."

Sebastian sighed, hands on his hips. "Fine, but how did it come to pass?"

Ciel rested his arms on his knees and his chin on his arms. "I don't know… Probably when I landed on the corner of one of the library tables."

That answer caused eyebrows to shoot up. "Beg your pardon? You landed on a table?" Sebastian was bewildered. "What in the world were you doing?"

Ciel rolled his eyes at him. "You're making it sound totally ridiculous. Calm down. I just climbed up to get a book from the top shelf in the library and when I jumped off, I miscalculated and hit the table."

That was truly no better. "You were climbing bookshelves?" Sebastian stared at him, halfway to exasperated; Ciel only stared back, perplexed by all this alarm. "You might recall there is a rolling ladder positioned along the shelves for the very purpose of retrieving high-up books. Why did you not use it?"

"Because I didn't know exactly where the book I wanted was, and I didn't want to climb down and change where the ladder was positioned every time I needed to try a new shelf. It's heavy." Ciel gave a huge sigh, as if this were very obvious and not worth all the explanation. "Then when I found the book, I just hopped off, but I was closer to the table than I thought, so I stumbled back and hit the corner of it. But I told you it doesn't even hurt, so stop looking at me like that. It's only a bruise. It'll heal in less than a week."

Sebastian glanced away, shaking his head and trying hard to smother his incredulity, but there was no help for it. Somehow, Ciel found this scenario to be completely logical, and yet Sebastian found it lacking in one key regard: self-preservation. Of course Sebastian knew a bruise was no fatal thing. But it was just another sign that Ciel's good judgment was still developing alongside the rest of him.

That last bit was the other matter. Ciel was still growing towards his adult body, slowly but surely. His coordination was as lacking as ever, all due to the constant changes he was experiencing at this age. His appetite still did not put much of a dent in his weight, despite the increase in height, and while Ciel's proportions were more balanced than they were half a year ago, his limbs still reflected an equine semblance. It was effort enough to control them, let alone elegantly. Perhaps it made all the sense in the world that the boy should test out his height and make mistakes along the way. Though Sebastian would rather Ciel were exercising more care for his own personal safety…

And, yet another week later, he discovered that he wasn't the only butler wishing this for his charge as of late.

"Ciiee-eeelll! We're here, we've arriiiived!" Soma announced again as he burst through the door to the parlor, carrying a colorful bowl filled with gulab jamun, the dough balls suspended in golden syrup and dotted with small slivered pistachios. When he sighted Ciel, he suddenly looked triumphant. "Ahahaha! The day of the competition has arrived! Now we'll see who's truly the superior chef, Funtom or Agni!"

Ciel remained seated on the camelback sofa, eyebrows quirked in obvious annoyance; it was no great feat for Soma to get on the boy's nerves within seconds of arriving. "This isn't a bloody competition, I told you that," Ciel said, folded arms tightening against his body. "It's a simple comparison between homemade and factory-made food. And besides, Agni's recipe is obviously going to taste better; the point isn't superiority. It's to see how close Funtom's machinery could get to authenticity. All right? So you can stop being so haughty."

Soma did not stop. He put the bowl down on the coffee table with his chin raised proudly. "Agni is the best cook in the whole entire world," he said, not with an ounce of humbleness. Agni entered the room at the same time this was spoken, carrying a tray of his own and looking positively moved by the praise, though he had surely heard this embellishment before. Sebastian understood, now: the good opinion of one's child meant more than that of a hundred thousand strangers. Soma continued, "We even made those stupid shahi tukda biscuits, and they turned out amazing anyway. Funtom can try its very best, but it can never, ever defeat us!"

"I don't want to defeat you in the first place, so stop talking about it like that!" Still, Ciel's annoyance was curbed by the smell of sugar and the sight of glistening fried dough as Agni placed more food before him. "Say… those look pretty fresh. Didn't you make them last night like I asked you to?"

Agni straightened up and looked at Soma, who looked back at him. They both exchanged crinkle-eyed expressions glowing with admiration. Sebastian wondered about the meaning for this as Soma began his answer. "We actually made the desserts this morning instead," he explained. He put a hand on his chest. "It's my fault. Agni was ready to begin cooking on-time, but I delayed him, and then it was too late to get started. I'm really sorry."

Ciel's eye was half-lidded in annoyance. "Of course it's your fault. Do you really think I'd believe for an instant that it was Agni's? Which one of you is the spoiled brat, hm?" But his distracted glance at the fresh desserts seemed to squash any hope the boy had to be taken seriously. Instead, he let out a big sigh for show. "I suppose this little situation can be worked with. I thought Funtom's desserts and Agni's might have a closer flavor if you'd made them in advance… but what's done is done. And… it may be preferable to have a fresh batch since Lizzie will be joining us."

Soma put his palms together. "Ohh, Miss Elizabeth is coming? That's great! It was so wonderful to see her at the convention last month! I'm so glad we'll get to meet again so soon!"

"I thought she would have arrived before you did, honestly," Ciel admitted, just as the telephone in the corner began to ring. Sebastian moved to answer it, but Ciel waved him off. "That might be Cavendish wondering if the dessert samples arrived in time. I'll take it." He lifted the telephone out of its cradle and brought it to his face. "Yes, hello."

"CIEL! "

Ciel jerked his head away from the telephone promptly. Then, tentatively into the mouthpiece,"L-Lizzie?"

"Ciel, you won't believe it! We have a telephone now! "

Ciel winced away again. His posture drooped. "Really, you don't say… There's no reason to shout into it, by the way, you can just talk normally…"

"Oh, I understand! I'll talk normally!" Her voice was still quite noticeable to the rest of the room, however. "Listen, Ciel, I'm ever so sorry that I'm running late, I know that you're expecting me. Jane Reubin stopped by in quite a state and needed a friend. I lost track of the time."

Ciel frowned. "Uh, th-that's fine. Is everything all right?"

"Oh yes, I think it is now. She just gets so worried about Lyle, you know. She's scared he'll come home again. Patricia and I have been looking after her, though. You remember Patricia, don't you? The girl from Jane's party that I couldn't stand? Would you believe that we've been getting along these days? Well, her favorite member of Starlight Four is Redmond just like mine, so we got to talking, and wouldn't you know it, we have SO much in common, and she's even interested in my fencing, isn't that incredible? Anyway. We're becoming just the fastest friends!"

"Lizzie," Ciel interjected the moment she stopped to take a breath.

"Oh, just listen to me ramble! Mother is right, I do get so excitable sometimes. I simply wanted you to know that I'll be on my way in mere minutes. But I am sorry to keep you and Prince Soma waiting, dreadfully sorry. It's so unladylike."

"Hello, Miss Elizabeth!" Soma suddenly chimed in over Ciel's shoulder, making Ciel wince again.

"Was that Soma? Hello, Soma!" Lizzie cheered back. "I can't wait to see you again! And I especially can't wait to see what you're wearing! You'll just love what I chose!"

"I know I will! You always look so fashionable!" Soma shouted to be heard in the mouthpiece.

"You two can have a proper conversation when you arrive, all right, Lizzie?" Ciel could scarcely hold back his irritation. "Using the telephone bothers my ears…"

"Yes, yes! Broglie's already fetched the carriage, so I'm leaving now! I'm sorry again! Goodbye!"

"It's fine. Goodbye." Ciel hung up and immediately began to massage his temple. "What was I thinking, putting the two of you in the same room…" he grumbled, scowling sidelong at Soma. Soma only grinned and slung an arm around Ciel's shoulders.

"Aww, come off it! Now the desserts can rest a bit longer, hm? And in the meanwhile, we can have ourselves a game of chess! Today can be the day that I finally defeat you!"

"Mm. Wishful thinking." Shrugging out from the embrace, Ciel walked over to the coffee table and reached for one of the crisp orange curls of jalebi.

He didn't get far before— "CI-EL! Stop right there! Don't even think about it!" The young master froze in surprise at the rebuke and jerked his head up. Soma was wagging his finger at him. "We are waiting for the company of a lady! How dare you start without her!"

"I wasn't…!" Ciel trailed off. He was. Ciel pointed back. "Y-You're the one who brought them freshly made, so what if I wanted to try one while it's still warm? I won't get the chance later!"

Still Soma shook his head. "I can't believe you! First you admonish me for making the desserts wrong and now this! How ungentlemanly!"

Ciel struggled to save face. "Warm food should be eaten when it's warm! I'm just being logical about it!"

"Agni and I shall deliver this to the cool pantry to wait until Lady Elizabeth's arrival," Sebastian said as he scooped up one of the trays. Ciel opened his mouth as if to object, but thought better of it and only glared. Sebastian smiled benevolently. "It won't be long. And it will give us the opportunity to prepare some fresh tea while the two of you have your chess match."

Ciel folded his arms and made himself look aloof. "Some match it'll be, one-sided as usual…"

Soma bounced back over to Ciel, jovial again. "Ahaha, how dare you! I've been improving tons! Last time I even announced mate in five!"

"And then I won in four, you might recall, you're just full of hot air. But fine, whatever, let's get this over with…"

As the boys moved over to one of the manor's three standing chessboards, Sebastian and Agni finished gathering up the sweets on their trays and moved out into the hallway.

The walk to the kitchen began in silence. Sebastian glanced at his fellow butler to clock his mood. Curiously, Agni had a pleasant look on his face and appeared lost in thought. Sebastian ventured, "You seem to be in good spirits today."

Agni snapped lightly to attention. "Oh! Excuse my distraction," he said, smiling anew. "I am in good spirits. Are you well yourself?"

"I would say so," said Sebastian, and added, "Your lessons have provided me a great deal of help. Thank you for them."

"That is so wonderful to hear!" Agni beamed. "The both of you have been getting along well, then?"

Sebastian half-laughed. "As well as the young master and I get along, yes. We still have our spats, but… they do not grow quite so heated as they once did. And I have noticed that he is slightly more willing to be honest with me."

"That's incredible! Marvelous work!" Agni waited while Sebastian opened the door to the servant's stairway that would bring them directly to the basement. "I'm pleased for you both that your arguments have been calmer affairs," he continued as they descended the steps. "Yet, I have been reminded that arguments made in anger are not always things to be avoided. That is why I am perhaps a bit wistful and proud, when I look down at the desserts that my prince and I made together. You would not know it by sight, but this array is representative of our strength and our ability to forgive each other. I am moved by how much more beautiful each dessert becomes when I consider this." The explanation seemed to leave Agni misty-eyed.

Sebastian glanced down at the plate he carried too. The shahi tukda biscuits, a recipe Funtom's Chef Toussaint had designed after inferring that traditional shahi tukda simply couldn't be made in a factory, looked appealing but unassuming. Like a simple glass of warm milk with honey, there was apparently more meaning here than met the eye. "You and Prince Soma had an argument?"

Agni's eyes welled with fondness as they continued on their way to the larder. "Prince Soma was paraphrasing slightly when he said we were ready to begin cooking yesterday afternoon," he began. "I discovered in the middle of preparing our lunch that our supply of milk had spoiled. My prince had left the pantry door open the previous evening when he was fetching himself a late-night snack… but it was an honest mistake that I could not bring myself to scold him for. Upon learning of this, Prince Soma even offered to take charge of replacing the milk on his own. He said he would purchase it from the market while I finished with our lunch, and off he went.

"An hour passed without his return, and I tried not to worry. But then another hour went by, and I could only fear something had gone very wrong. I raced out of the house in search of him… and after I was unable to locate him at the market, my fear only grew. I hoped that maybe he had gone to Smithfield's to find something of higher quality… Or perhaps he had gotten lost. But I couldn't shake the idea that my prince had become the target of ruffians. He knows how to defend himself, but even so… I was so worried, I must have looked a fright.

"I asked every shopkeeper and newspaper boy I passed if they had seen him, and some had, but none could tell me where he went. I even traveled all the way to the Limehouse district to ask our sailor friends for help. But then it began to grow dark, and I thought I should go home and call your manor for help — I even considered telephoning Scotland Yard. Then I opened the door, and my prince was there to greet me.

"You can imagine my relief. I was so happy that I began to cry — but Prince Soma was laughing in surprise at my emotion. Apparently, he had forgotten about the milk when he bumped into some of his friends, a group of Indian students attending King's College. He had spent the day around Somerset House with them instead and arrived home just an hour ago.

"He was so lighthearted that it made the pain of my worry feel all the more dismissed. I could not contain my emotions any longer… without control, I began to yell at him.

"I had never done that before. I could see how bewildering it was for him, but I couldn't stop… I felt, in that moment, that he needed to know my distress. When I finally finished, I believe we were both in shock… Now there were tears in his eyes too. Once my anger had ebbed, I felt that I owed him an immediate apology. But instead, it was Prince Soma who apologized to me. He said that he should have considered my feelings, rather than his desire to play. He could see how much I loved him, and that he had betrayed my love today. He promised he would never worry me so again."

Agni bowed his head, smiling pleasantly. "Instead of balking at my scolding, he faced it with the countenance of an adult. I could not have been prouder of him then… I felt I could see the child becoming a young man before my eyes. It is a moment I will not ever forget… and I don't think my prince shall either."

As the story came to an end, an admiring kind of hush had fallen over the inhabitants of the kitchen, for Sebastian was no longer the only one listening.

After a moment, Bard chuckled and smudged at his eye. "Aww, heck… what a sap I'm becoming in my old age."

Tanaka tutted from his place at the servant's table. "It is far too soon for you to be speaking of old age! And you should be very pleased with yourself, Agni. Prince Soma's response is proof of your care of him."

Agni placed a hand to his chest, having both hands free again; the desserts had moments ago been delivered to the pantry shelves. "I don't wish to take the credit… If anything, it is proof of my prince's good heart."

"It is proof of both," Tanaka said. "Children rarely become good adults without another good adult to guide them there. And in the world of a prince, I don't envision his parents were always available to fill that role. You are lucky to have each other."

Agni could not hope to argue with that last point. "Yes… we are."

"What trust he has of you, for him to immediately understand that your anger was in truth an expression of your worry," Sebastian marveled.

"My prince is very trusting by nature," Agni was quick to remind. "If anything, he has had to learn not to give his trust so willingly."

Bard leaned back against the counter. "Basically the complete opposite of our young master," he said with half a grin, but it was soft. "I get why. The young master's job ain't one that allows for trust. But I wish there was some way we could get through to him sometimes."

"I think Sebastian already has been," Tanaka chimed in, with a reassuring look in Sebastian's direction. "Those nightly meetings of yours aren't all for naught. I can see a change in the young master these days. He is becoming more aware of himself."

Bard's posture raised. "Nightly meetings, huh? Well, now that you mention it, the young master did say something to me the other day when we were out with Syson."

Sebastian perked his ears at that. "What did he say to you?"

Bard raised up his palms sheepishly. "Well, I'll tell you, but… just remember that it's Lord Phantomhive's word, not mine, okay?" Oh, isn't that a promising start… "Yesterday, he asked me, 'Have you noticed that Sebastian is less annoying lately?' And I only asked what he meant by that, by the way, I didn't agree or nothin'! But anyway, next he said, 'He's different. I don't know why. Doesn't he seem different to you?' Well, I said, 'Sure, maybe a little bit.' Because you are a bit different lately. Friendlier, I guess. But not so different. Then the young master said, 'He doesn't act like his old self at all. But he's less annoying, so maybe it's for the best.' And then he said…" Bard suddenly stopped and clapped a hand over his mouth.

"What did he say next?" Sebastian had trouble hiding that he was riveted. It was intriguing to hear how Ciel talked about him when he wasn't around to listen.

Bard rubbed the same hand up over his face and back through his hair. "Well then he said not to tell you about that conversation, so I guess I went and bungled that up."

Agni was a voice of reason as usual. "There, there, it was only a mistake," he said. "Lord Phantomhive does not need to find out that you spoke on this. And while it is important to respect a child's trust, I think it is even more important that the three of you support each other and do not keep any major secrets about what Lord Ciel tells you. You are the only adults he has in his daily life, after all."

"That is very wise." Tanaka took another sip of tea and dipped his head. "Sebastian, I'd like to remind you to rely on Bard and I whenever you are in need of direction. We are at your disposal."

Bard poked himself in the chest. "Eh, me too, huh? Shoot, that's fine. Count me in."

Sebastian blinked at the encouraging faces that were all turned his way. He wondered how a human would feel in his place. Relieved? Flattered? What he felt was more akin to gentle amusement. It was true, he had reached out to Agni for the basic lessons in parenting, but what more was there to learn that trial and error could not teach him, especially about his own boy?

You must practice confiding in them anyway; you cannot teach the young master what you do not know.

Ah, that was true — and so Sebastian offered a small bow to the roomful of fathers that were like his upperclassmen. "Thank you. I shall not forget this kind offer."

Lady Elizabeth's arrival came within the hour, and thus the great dessert comparison could begin, as per Prince Soma's wont. Ciel's determination to keep things professional was all in vain. Soma made Elizabeth guess which treats belonged to whom ("It should be very obvious! After all, mine and Agni's are the ones that look better." "Oh… wait… but I don't want to insult anybody!" "Honestly, stop making this out to be a competition. And I won't be insulted, if Soma's look better then that's all there is to it."), and then came the actual tasting ("Of course Agni's desserts taste better, too! Because his are made with love, you know." "Ah, but everything is so yummy! I like all of it!" "The both of you need to make real comments about the taste. I have to send back notes to Cavendish about what to fix."). Both Soma and Elizabeth were strongly biased in their own way, Soma for traditional cooking and Elizabeth for Ciel's happiness. Sebastian found himself smiling to himself often as they spoke; he could relate to each whim.

"This one is called jalebi?" Lizzie said, pointing to the tray of orange spirals. "They look really lovely, the color and the shape, I should so like to eat them again. I think Ciel's were sweeter, but they were also spongier."

Soma lifted his shoulders tall as he folded his arms. "I don't think sweeter is better! I think they're too sweet. And they were definitely soggy. A mere imitation."

"We used the exact recipe that Agni helped us to finalize," Ciel said through gritted teeth; dragging a meaningful review out of Soma was nigh impossible. "It's all right if they're sweeter, children like sweet things, and I want children to buy them. The jalebi needs to be able to compete with marshmallows and pastilles."

"Then Funtom should call them 'jelly bees' or however you kept referring to them by mistake, because that isn't jalebi!"

"Look, Funtom's are sweeter and 'spongier' because we have to keep them in sugar syrup for preservation, all right? Or else they'll spoil. The gulab jamun is just the same. It will have to be delivered in jars to our confectionaries, but it will still be made fresh at the cafés. Is that good enough for you, or are you going to despise them no matter what?"

So the three of them continued to bicker and discuss, and so Sebastian watched them at it with content. It was easy, in these moments, to think life could be without real trouble forever. But Sebastian would need Tanaka and Bard's help even sooner than he imagined — and even more desperately than he had ever known.

---

Autumn was a time of change. It was a plunge into darkness, a creek full of mud, a tree with leaves in a dead ring at its feet. October spared them nothing.

It was on the third day of the month that they received the letter from Fairclough. He was to be visiting Sedgemore House next week and wondered if Ciel would be available for hors d'oeuvres followed by cards.

"That's a bit of an unorthodox meeting for only two," Sebastian couldn't help but note.

Ciel rolled his eyes, always the favored way to express himself. At this point he knew well how Sebastian felt about Fairclough. "I guess, but what do you expect? He's a gentleman, he doesn't know how to socialize with nobles. Plus he's a connoisseur of French food, he's probably just trying to impress me with what he knows. Fine by me. I'll take an afternoon of eating good cuisine and talking about the toy industry over hunting and carousing any day."

Sebastian sighed. "How fortunate for him. And just what date has Mr. Fairclough requested our attendance?"

Ciel took out paper and a pen to begin his correspondence. "You are not invited."

Sebastian blanched. Right, of course… He shouldn't be surprised in the least. But… "I have attended every prior meeting. It would not be entirely unfitting for me to be present."

"Those were business meetings. This is a social call." Ciel looked at him sharply from the corner of his eye. "Stop being belligerent. I get it. You think Fairclough shouldn't be offering me wine because of my age. You sound just like Aunt Francis when she's on one of her temperance lectures. But I'm not some 'feckless miscreant who drinks because he lacks meaningful occupation,' or whatever it is she says; I'm a lord with a reputation to uphold. And I have to work twice as hard as anyone else to maintain that reputation, or else suddenly I'm the 'child earl' all over again. If someone offers me wine, I'm not turning them down, and that's final."

Sebastian leaned down to place a cup of Irish breakfast tea and a rarebit crumpet on the left side of the desk. Ciel continued to eye him, so Sebastian frowned back. "I don't believe my apprehension is so misplaced. It was only seven months ago that you decided you should drink almost an entire bottle of champagne by yourself."

Ciel reddened. He hunched his shoulders. "That isn't fair. I… wasn't… It… It's completely different. You know I didn't enjoy it when I did that, I just…" He trailed off, looking embarrassed and angry and unsure of how to continue.

"... I trust you not to lose control," Sebastian said evenly when the silence persisted; Ciel eyed him again, softer now. "I just want you to be safe, and for your judgment to be free of impairment."

"One glass of wine won't do anything, I'm not so easily affected," the boy barked. He shooed at Sebastian hastily with his fingers. "I'm going, and I'll do as I please. I don't want to hear any more out of you. I've been really lenient with you lately, so at least drop the conversation when I tell you to."

But it wasn't just the wine and the insistence that Ciel was an adult that put Sebastian on edge about Fairclough — not anymore. Grelle still hadn't returned with her report about him from the Reapers' French division. There was no way to know if the report ever would come either; Sebastian wasn't even sure if Grelle would tell him whether her request had been denied or not. The only good that could come from next week's meeting would be an opportunity to secretly make off with a hair or clothing sample from Fairclough. Then he could deliver the article to Undertaker for analysis and find out if any of the foreign magic clinging to his young master was also clinging to this wretched man.

The meeting was next Tuesday, and it came all too soon. Ciel had decided it would be better not to skip one of the tri-weekly sessions with his new tutor, whom he seemed to be enjoying the eclectic lessons of. Sebastian was glad to see the boy readily participate in something he was meant to at this age and not… whatever it was Fairclough had in mind. But Sebastian did not panic. Even if he wasn't invited inside, it did not mean he had to be out of earshot.

The carriage arrived at Sedgemore House at noon. It was a typical London October day, with sickly rain drizzling from a wooly sky. Sebastian came to the carriage door with an umbrella at the ready, and Ciel emerged when it was opened, snug in a double-breasted Chesterfield coat that kept him as warm as a nested egg against the chill. It was always best to dress him more warmly than other humans, Sebastian had learned, as Ciel was easily affected by cold and even more easily complained when he felt it.

"I shall be ready to collect you in three hours' time, at your request," Sebastian said as they walked to the door together. "If you would like to leave before then, simply speak the order, and it shall be heard by me, no matter where I am."

"I know that. Why are you reminding me how our contract works?" They made it to the portico, and Ciel waited as Sebastian used the door knocker to announce him. Sebastian recognized the man who answered as Fairclough's footman, Janvier. The man bowed politely and invited them inside with a "Do come in and warm yourself, Lord Phantomhive, my master has been expecting you in the atrium."

Only Ciel strode forward into the manor. "I shall see to the horses, sir," Sebastian explained, with the unspoken notion that he would be waiting in the stables until the appointed moment.

Of course, that was not what he was going to do.

Yankee and Merrylegs were delivered to the haven of the stables by a stableboy and head groom (Yankee with some excitement, likely remembering how much pampering he'd been given during their last visit). Sebastian did not tarry long before covertly making his way through the stable's back entrance to an outdoor corridor. Beyond the west side of the manor were an unused paddock and greenhouse, where previous Lord Sedgmores would have raised food for their families' consumption. The two outbuildings seemed to be kept now only for prosperity's sake; Sebastian passed them with little interest. Similarly did a groundskeeper show little interest in Sebastian. This was because, at the soonest possible opportunity, Sebastian had chosen the guise of a starling and pretended to frighten up to the rooftops at the sight of a human.

Up high was a much preferable vantage point to spy on the conversation. Sebastian knew this building well after all his frequent visits for the Funtom Convention. The atrium was brick-sided but had a glass ceiling that could be glimpsed through with ease, though the freckles of rain blurred the scene somewhat. It was great fortune that Fairclough had situated his meeting here. From above, it would be a simple task keeping the young master in view. Sebastian flicked his wet tail feathers and settled in to watch.

He had shown up just in time. He had only missed the greetings. Now Fairclough and Ciel sat cater-cornered to each other on stately neoclassical armchairs, a low table before them bedecked in French splendors. Sebastian heard Fairclough introducing the food now. "I promised you andouille de Vire months ago, and so here we are. Now, I know what you're thinking: it looks like something only old men would eat. And I can tell you I have seen many a Brit turn it away. The flavor is overwhelming for most of you. But, with a slice of pain au son, a little Maroilles, and then a sip of Gewürztraminer… Maybe you'll think it's not so bad. What do you say?"

"... I'll certainly at least try it," Ciel offered, though his polite smile was a little strained. "If it tastes as strong as it smells, I don't know if I'll be partial to it…"

Fairclough laughed. "Ah, the smell isn't the sausage, Lord Phantomhive! That would be the cheese, the Maroilles. Don't let it deter you. The taste is not as powerful as the scent. It's soft, sweet, a little oily, and it will help cut the pungence of the andouille. And you'll quite like the wine too, it's as sweet as Moscato. Have you had that? No? Well… Gewürztraminer has 'perfume' in its very name. Of course, it's German, but I've been tasting delicacies of the world for a long time now, and I can promise you that it goes perfectly with the selection here. And if you decide you can't stand the andouille after all, I have truffade, which is the signature dish of Clermont-Ferrand, and some more Auvergne specialties, chou farci of course, and there's lentil ragout over the stove still hot, too."

Ciel looked spellbound from the explanation. "This is more food than I was expecting… I don't know if I came with nearly enough of an appetite."

Sebastian flicked his body upward with pride. Of course you don't have much of an appetite. I made sure you had plenty of vol-au-vents at mid-morning tea. And Ciel had enjoyed every one of them, too.

Fairclough laughed again. "Never mind! Eat as much or as little as you like. And allow me to serve you. Where should we begin?"

Ciel looked around with uncertainty. "Uh, I'm not sure… You can decide."

"All right. Allow me to handle your plate then."

These dishes are all too heavy for him. Sebastian ruffled his feathers with disdain. He'll surely have a stomachache later… I shall have to cancel tonight's civet de cerf and ask him afterwards if he'd prefer soup of either rice or tapioca for dinner instead. And wait a minute, why was Fairclough doing the serving? Unorthodox indeed… But fine. A small price to pay. Maybe Ciel would find Fairclough's behavior too odd and not want to come back again. Then it would be a boon.

Indeed, Ciel frowned doubtfully as Fairclough went about filling his dish and prattling on about the foods. The boy wasn't used to seeing his host wait on him this way and couldn't seem to help venturing, "Wouldn't you rather have your footman assist with serving? It would be less trouble."

Fairclough wasn't deterred. "We are two able-bodied gentlemen, are we not? This is no difficult thing. There, I've already finished, and I'm very curious for your thoughts on the andouille. Make sure you taste it with the Maroilles. It will make your first bite less powerful."

Ciel looked every inch of him tentative as he allowed himself a controlled nibble of the bread, cheese, and sausage all at once. He's going to hate it. Sebastian awaited the rejection eagerly.

"Hmm… It's different from what I'm used to, but… I can see why you recommended it to me. It's well-crafted, so it still tastes good."

Sebastian flinched. Eh?! He enjoyed it?

Fairclough was beaming. "Music to my ears! Somehow I knew you would be able to appreciate these flavors. Maybe it is because you can speak the French tongue that I believed your own palate would grow to match. Someday you will visit me in Clermont-Ferrand, I hope. Everything you eat will be like nectar."

Absolutely not. Sebastian ruffled his feathers again; in this tiny body, agitation seemed to course through all the more quickly.

"I can't really make the time for leisure trips," Ciel said. "But if I'm ever in France on business, maybe then. I've actually only ever visited once. Ever since I took over the estate and started Funtom, I've needed to be mindful of how often I leave."

"Yes, you do keep yourself very busy," Fairclough nodded. "Thank you for making time for this today."

"It's fine. The final harvest for the year is over, so now my role as an earl is mainly about seeing my tenants through any of winter's emergencies." Ciel tried a forkful of truffade. "Mm, this is nice too. Of course, Funtom work is picking up again as we get closer to Christmas. And I prefer keeping as busy as possible in December anyway."

"You have a very impressive work ethic," Fairclough said after finishing a bite of his own. "You are quite different from most of the noble alumni that I meet with. They are interested in making money, but they are not interested in working."

"And that's the very thing that will see the end of this country's aristocracy." Ciel stabbed in Fairclough's direction with his fork as he said it before using it to select more food. "Any noble who doesn't embrace that he can't make money solely from taxes in this day and age will see his bloodline doomed. Most think work is a shameful thing, strictly for the lower classes. And they wonder why the middle-class is doing so exceptionally well nowadays: they aren't afraid to get their hands dirty. You're a prime example. You saw a place where money could be made, and took advantage. Or… no, it was your colleague, wasn't it?"

"That's right." Fairclough began pouring from the bottle of Gewürztraminer, and Sebastian clicked his beak in displeasure. How he'd love to swoop in and knock the thing from his hands…

Ciel accepted the glass when it was handed over. "Is your outreach for Weston going accordingly?"

"For the most part." Fairclough settled back against his chair, swirling his wine in his hand. "You never quite know what to expect when you start up at a new school. It's an interesting mix there. The youngest boys very much look up to the eldest ones. They don't really want to do anything unless they think it will have the approval of the upperclassmen. So, sometimes I have trouble finding one of them who is willing to go off of their campus to speak with one of my clients."

Ciel furrowed his brow. "That's curious. Why wouldn't the upperclassmen approve of alumni outreach? You'd think that it would be an honorable thing, to a degree."

Fairclough smiled with difficulty. "I didn't want to be the one to say so, but… I think it's a matter of entitlement." He sighed. "You differ from nobility in another way, Lord Phantomhive, and it's in that you don't have any grievances in talking to an untitled man such as myself. But the boys of Weston are not so worldly or generous. They don't want to work for a living either. They don't want to understand that their good word to one of my clients would support the very school they clearly love. They take one look at me and decide that nothing I say should matter."

Now Ciel was unsurprised. "That explanation is certainly proving my own idea that that school is doing nothing to prepare its students for reality after they graduate. A man has no control over his blood. If I judged a person on that merit alone, it would only serve to keep me closed-minded and anachronistic. Another reason nobles are a dying breed. We deserve to be at this rate."

"How profoundly you speak!" Fairclough was pleased again. "And yet, you yourself are a master of public relations. I would love to request some of your advice, if I may. Is there any way you can think of that I can show these boys not to mind their peers and simply act on their own logic?"

Ciel laughed harshly. "Ha! If such a thing exists… I've spent years wondering why other nobles spend so much time caring what other nobles think of them. I just associate with whomever I please and pass my own judgment, regardless of what even my family thinks. I don't know if much can be done for the arrogance of Weston students, but if a discussion of public relations is what you want, I'm happy to engage in it."

That self-contained attitude that I used to find so respectable is lately the one giving me the most grief, Sebastian could have frowned to think. It had been the case for years: Ciel Phantomhive would not be told what to do unless it already aligned with his own agenda, just as Ciel Phantomhive would not allow himself to be parented unless he wanted to feel parented. But oh, how hard it was proving to convince Ciel Phantomhive that he wanted to be parented, because what had become much more acceptable to Ciel Phantomhive was drinking wine and talking business with a man that Sebastian detested — a man that might just be infecting the boy with foreign magic.

How do I show him to mind the people who love him and not to simply act on his own 'logic'?

Surely such a thing had to be possible.

"... It got me thinking, if business is a noble pursuit, why shouldn't purchasing be framed as noble too?" Ciel was saying; the subject seemed to have meandered. "When you define happiness and indulgence as worthy causes, who can resist? The very essence of advertising is to convince a man of his own needs. But convincing a man to be happy is even easier than convincing him to stay alive. Man has no choice but to live, but he wants to be happy. Tell him you know the secret to happiness, and his interest is nearly guaranteed. Keep him happy instead of swindling him, and you have a customer — at least until someone better comes along. So then you just have to continue to be the better option."

Fairclough laughed. "My goodness, Lord Phantomhive! I didn't realize you had such a wicked streak behind that charm!"

"It's just business, of course," Ciel said, but slyly.

"I understand all too well," Fairclough said. "More than anyone, I understand — business, good business, cannot be separated from good marketing, and good marketing cannot be separated from persuasion. When you know your habitué through and through, you can nearly guarantee his devotion, one way or another."

"You implied that your committee currently lacks any competition," Ciel said, "though I remember you also stated that you feel you've secured the market with your particular brand of hospitality, should worthy competition arise."

Fairclough appeared to nod heartily. "Correct: as of now, I don't feel we are at risk. But our model is so successful that I imagine we'll start to see copycats soon enough."

"And there's nothing stopping colleges from going ahead and forming their own departments for alumni outreach," Ciel added. "Then you could be out of a job. Does that worry you?"

"Not right now. Our niche market should be able to keep us afloat."

Ciel sipped at his glass of wine, which was nearly empty, to Sebastian's dismay. "What is this niche, anyway?"

Fairclough maintained his silence. "I'm afraid that's the secret to our success. I mustn't give it away so easily. Then I really would be out of a job."

"Hmm. I don't really understand why that would be the case, but if you think so than I believe you." Ciel stretched his arms above his head. Sebastian was surprised at his behavior. Is the wine making him lose some of his social graces or is he just this comfortable around Fairclough? "Anyway… that was quite a lunch spread. I think I enjoyed all of it, actually, especially the truffade. I didn't know that cheese could have that consistency. What kind is it? I should have Sebastian make some for me sometime."

"Cantal fraîche," Fairclough said. "It's a very young cheese, which allows it to melt astoundingly well — perfect for aligot and gratin, too." A moment of hesitation. "Sebastian is that butler of yours, correct? I was surprised he didn't come with you today."

Ciel folded his arms. "He was surprised I didn't invite him too. He was only ever meant to come with me due to business, not tag after me like a puppy. And he did drive the carriage here, but that's as far as he needs to go. I certainly don't need him lurking over my shoulder and watching my every move like some sort of spy."

Sebastian felt his head sink back into his wingspan. He's likely aware that I'm listening.

"He did still arrive, then?" Fairclough asked.

"Yes. He's sitting in the stables and waiting for the next two hours to end, probably." Ciel seemed to notice his companion's mild trepidation. He leaned forward. "Are you nervous about him? He didn't say something odd to you, did he?"

Fairclough waved his hand. "No, not exactly… Never mind it. It was probably merely a misunderstanding."

"What did he do?" Put strictly.

After a pause, Fairclough offered, "I wonder if he may think of me in a way similarly to the Weston students, as he seems to glare at me with disdain."

Well, he isn't wrong about that. But now the young master knew… this would surely have some consequences later.

Ciel scowled and closed his eyes. "Ugh, of course… I apologize for his disrespect. He's useful for all his skills, but he can never keep his opinions to himself." Ciel even looked up at the ceiling as he said this, correctly discerning that Sebastian existed on the other side of it, but his human eyes weren't capable of deciphering through the blur of raindrops. He turned back to Fairclough. "Listen: if he dislikes you, it isn't because of your social status. It would be because you don't treat me like a child. He can't acknowledge that I'm an adult who can make his own judgments."

He's telling him that? He's confiding in him such things? Sebastian felt himself pulled tight as a bowstring with unease.

"... I see." Fairclough thought this over. "I know he is very, very talented but… is he not replaceable all the same? His disrespect is a serious level of misconduct."

Ciel laughed. "Unfortunately, no. I'm stuck with him." A pause. Then, surprisingly, "He's been with me for a long time. I don't need to be rid of him. I just need him to understand that I'm different from other fourteen-year-old boys. He always refuses to believe it. He doesn't seem to realize how much this undermines me."

"You are entirely different," said Fairclough. He gestured to the table. "This is not food or drink I would offer to a boy. A boy would not understand the nuance of it. You are not like the students that I talk to on behalf of my clients. Anyone who spends more than a moment with you would know it. It is just as you said before: as you would not judge a man by his station, I would not judge a man by his age."

"Yes. That is exactly it." Ciel enunciated each word, as if for Sebastian's sake alone. Then, "Enough about him. This lunch was very unique. I'm obliged to have been invited to indulge in it."

"But of course! It is a great gift to me to be able to share the food of my country with you, Lord Phantomhive." Fairclough clambered to his feet. "And I am obliged for your advice. I now feel I have a better understanding of how to gain the Weston boys' trust."

"Really? I didn't think we came to a conclusion together, so I'm glad you thought of one on your own." Ciel stood too, flexing his arms in front of him. "But shall we move on to cards now? I've had enough to eat, so the smell of the food is becoming a bit much for me."

"Oh, certainly. I have the table set on the second floor of the library. Did you happen to venture up there during the planning stage for your convention? I'm sure you remember the drawing room; the library is a much more masculine space, after all, and the upper floor has curiosities from all over the world. And that massive fireplace can warm the whole room with ease…"

Sebastian waited until Fairclough had closed the door before he entered the atrium for himself, having now returned to his human form.

There were a thousand emotions spinning inside of him, and a hundred thoughts longing to complete themselves, but Sebastian knew he had to ignore them for now. He needed to collect something of Fairclough's before Janvier could arrive to start tidying up. Sebastian scanned the room. What could possibly serve him…? Ciel's eye patch had acted as a decent vessel for magic, so an article of clothing could work for Fairclough too. He spotted it in a brown pair of gloves Fairclough had likely been wearing before lunch, laid on the sofa bench next to where he'd been sitting. Stealing was an act he preferred to avoid, but if he only took one perhaps Fairclough would think that the other glove was simply misplaced.

Sebastian pocketed it and started for the door back to the garden. It was time to see if he could find a library windowsill to—

"Whoa—! " There was a sudden clatter, like a body hitting the ground with all its weight behind it. "Oof-! Ouch…!"

The young master was in danger.

Sebastian's composure drained from him in an instant, to be replaced with something dark, encompassing, and indefinable. It sent him flying into the depths of Sedgemore House as no starling but a human, moving a hundred times as fast as a human ought to, through the corridors, thrusting open the library doors, up the left stairwell at the back of the enormous room, and to the second story where Ciel lay sprawled across the carpet at the top step with Fairclough looming over him, get away from him get away from him "get away from him—"

Fairclough looked terrified at the butler suddenly breathing inches from his face. Sebastian had strode at him so quickly that Fairclough had had no choice but to backpedal as he was steered ten feet to the left of where Ciel had fallen. "What in the world? What are you doing here?" Fairclough stammered, aghast.

Sebastian ignored him. "I knew you were up to something wicked, I could sense it. Unfortunately for you, I never leave my charge unguarded, not ever. You aren't going to lay another finger on him. Move and you will sorely regret it." Threats executed, he turned back for the boy and crouched to help him to his feet. "I'm here, young master. Are you all right?"

Ciel had pushed himself up to his hands and knees. He gawked, mouth open. "Sebastian? What are you…?!"

He wasn't injured; what a relief. "Stay where you are, just in case. I shall take care of this." He stood and spun to Fairclough with none of the gentleness he granted Ciel. "What a coward you are, pushing down a boy," he growled, nearly pressing himself against Fairclough's chest and speaking directly into his stunned expression. "I'm sure you attacked from his blind side, too. And what next? I suppose it doesn't matter; it won't come now. You humans never suspect that y—"

"Sebastian, stop it! That's an order! "

Confused, Sebastian flicked his chin to the right. Ciel stood now, with his hand gripping the end of the banister for balance. His cheeks were two pink circles and his eyes were huge. Had he been hurt after all? "My lord, are you—

"Stop! You've said enough!" The boy was livid, confused, getting his bearings. He stared at Sebastian in horror. "What the hell are you doing here?!" he finally managed.

Sebastian frowned. "I heard you cry out in pain, so I came to protect you from whoever hurt—"

"Nobody hurt me!" Ciel cried, looking angrier than ever.

"Then why did y—"

"I tripped! " Ciel's face was taking on more color as he spoke. "I tripped! On the top step! Fairclough was just helping me back to my feet!"

"Tripped?" Sebastian glanced at Fairclough. The man was still bewildered; Sebastian didn't grant him any mercy. He returned to Ciel. "You tripped because he gave you alcohol," he said sharply.

Ciel's eye went wide and glossy. "That isn't why, it was my own fault! I just tripped, that's all! You know I'm… You know I'm prone to tripping lately! Fairclough was only helping me! What is the matter with you?!"

Sebastian sighed. "Nothing is the matter with me. I am protecting you from…"

… from what? What is there to protect him from?

Sebastian froze. His terrible mistake was starting to dawn on him. He finally took in the sight of the boy before him: flushed and scowling and breathing through his mouth, almost like he was on the verge of crying. The boy's fall had surely been embarrassing enough, but then for a sensitive person like Ciel who hated to look silly, to intentionally stand out, have his butler first rush to his aid and then accuse him of intoxication…

The only thing hurt were his feelings.

Oh no. I've done very wrong.

Sebastian reached out a hand. "Young master, I—"

"Stop it. Go get the carriage at once." Eyes cast away, Ciel pointed outward with his arm. His tone was dark. "You've done enough to mistreat Fairclough in his own home. Now I have to sort this. Go. It's an order."

Leaving the boy felt the same as abandoning him. But Ciel was right. He had done enough. Reluctantly, he left.

The stablemaster knew nothing of the situation, and he cheerfully helped Sebastian prepare the carriage without protest. The horses grunted and snorted as they were helped into their harnesses, disappointed to leave the warm ambience where they were doted on with curry combs and soft wedges of musque de provence pumpkin. Sebastian wondered if this household would ever greet them with such kindness again, even if he also hoped they would never return. It was hard to know the extent of the damage he'd done just yet…

It took a nerve-wracking twenty minutes for Ciel to finally emerge from the front door. His complexion was back to normal, but his expression was taut with scorn. He walked straight past Sebastian waiting for him with the umbrella on the portico. "Home," was all he barked before storming down the steps. Sebastian barely had the chance to catch Janvier's expression as the door was closed; it was not one that invited promise.

The drive back to the manor was no less grim than the weather. The roads churned to mud beneath the carriage wheels, slowing them down. Sebastian had nothing to do but think: about the way the boy in the carriage must feel, about how Fairclough must feel, about how he himself felt. None of it was good. His error was a grave one — and yet he knew that he didn't feel as apologetic as he ought to. He was sorry for the shame he'd caused his young master; he wasn't sorry for threatening Fairclough. If Fairclough stayed far away after this, it would all have been worth it. Ciel didn't need anyone telling him he wasn't a child right now. He didn't need anyone pouring him wine and causing him to lose his balance. And he especially didn't need anyone who might be attaching foreign magic to his person. What Ciel needed was a caring adult who could surround him with other caring adults. He needed Sebastian.

Bard was by the steps waiting for them as they pulled up two hours later. "Back a bit early, ain'tcha," he noted; Finny must have reported their arrival, he was always aware of who was entering the grounds. "You look soaked through. I'll put the horses away for ya, right, boss?"

"... Yes. Thank you." Sebastian climbed gingerly down from the driver's seat and opened the carriage door after putting down the step. The Ciel who emerged seemed even angrier than before; a very bad sign. He hastened up the front stairs, and Sebastian kept up with the umbrella while still staying behind him. Neither of them spoke a word on the tense journey through the entrance hall and up to the bedroom. But as soon as the door was closed, the silence was shattered.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Ciel spun around and screamed. His hands were balled up at his sides, shoulders raised to his ears. "You completely lost control! Over nothing! You didn't even bother to understand the situation before you decided to jump to the most inane conclusion possible! There was no logic behind it whatsoever, you just automatically decided Fairclough was trying to hurt me as soon as I cried out! Why?!"

Sebastian felt pain in his chest. "Young master… I know I—"

"I can't believe you aren't even going to answer my question! You're going to patronize me! I don't want to hear it!" Ciel ripped off his eye patch, as if glaring at him with one eye wasn't enough. "Why are you like this lately? You're forgetting that I'm in charge, and you're trying to make me forget it too! You were objecting so much to my meeting with Fairclough, when you shouldn't even be objecting in the first place! Well I'm putting my foot down once and for all! I'm tired of your opinions, I'm tired of you deciding things for me. And I'm especially tired of you treating me like a child who doesn't know anything about how the world works!"

"Young master, I—"

"I don't want to hear any more out of you!" Ciel was completely worked up. "I'm sick of you, I'm sick of you trying to talk down to me, and trying to force me to be sad, even though I told you I don't want you to do that! Enough already! You haven't listened to me in ages, so you're going to listen now! You don't decide who I spend my time with or how I spend my time! You don't argue with it even if you disagree! Or else what happened this afternoon will happen again, and it will damage my reputation, and it will make me look like an idiot! You used to be able to understand that! You used to let me take charge of myself and not care who I was with! But now all of a sudden you do, and it's ruining everything! What is happening to you?! Why are you acting this way? It's deplorable!"

Sebastian set his jaw. "Young master, I understand that—"

"STOP! " Ciel seemed to shout it with as much voice as he had left. His energy was fading, but he didn't give up. "Stop talking to me like a child! You've acted horribly, and instead of begging forgiveness, you just keep trying to launch into one of your stupid lectures!"

Sebastian watched the boy in front of him continue to rant. Is this really how he feels about the way I've been speaking to him lately?

"I know exactly what you're about! You wouldn't do this if you saw me as an adult!"

Is he really acting as though we haven't been working together to help him with his emotions for months?

"Just imagine if Fairclough started lecturing me about how I should choose better staff! He knows I'm an adult, that I have all the power of an adult, so I needed to reassure him that I hadn't planned for you to come and attack him! I'm just lucky he believed me and forgave me!"

Yes, I am lucky for that. The young master should not be held accountable for my actions. But that isn't why he hates me. He hates me because I made him feel like a child.

"Most people wouldn't be as magnanimous as Fairclough. You wouldn't, but you're not a person, you're an idiot demon! Which is even worse, because it means instead of firing you I just have to keep dealing with your stupidity!"

Sebastian closed his eyes. That is fine. He can hate me if he likes. He should hate me. I've behaved very poorly today.

"Lately you're worse than you were at the start of the contract! At least then you were somewhat interested in keeping up appearances! But now you'll nearly give yourself away at the slightest inclination that I could be in danger!"

He doesn't need to be happy with me.

"You're deciding far too much on your own! From now on, I'm the only one who decides what I do!"

Sebastian's eyes snapped open. He needs me to keep him safe.

"Do you hear—"

"Young master, enough! Listen to me!"

Ciel was startled out of his words. Sebastian had never spoken to him that way before.

The quiet was all at once so refreshing. Sebastian could feel his sense of power coming back to him. I am the adult and he is the child. This is the way it is supposed to be, for both our sakes. "You will not be allowed to see Fairclough anymore," he said slowly, sternly. "I have my reasons, not the least of which is his plying you with alcohol. How you feel about my decision is irrelevant. It isn't going to change my mind, because the thing that matters most is—"

"If anyone isn't going to be allowed to see Fairclough anymore, it's you." Ciel had gathered himself swiftly. His eyes were cold with betrayal, wounded. "How dare you talk to me like that. You will never do it again, not ever. I am your master, demon, and I am the one to decide how you ought to treat me. I don't need protection from Fairclough. Fairclough needs protection from you. Which is why this is an order: you are not allowed to go within a mile radius of Henri Fairclough without my permission again, for any reason. The idea that you would try and hunt him while my back is turned is too great. I can't believe I have to worry about this. It's pathetic."

Oh no. Sebastian saw that he was quickly losing ground. "Sir, you need to—"

"You need to stop telling me what I need to do." Ciel's voice was tired but his meaning was no less steadfast. He fixed Sebastian with a meaningful glare. "'Let's keep things even from here on.' That's what you said to me last month. And maybe you didn't notice, but I actually did that. I stopped calling you an idiot and I even tried to take some of your worthless suggestions. But it didn't matter. You don't want to keep things even after all. You just want to tell me what to do. You're acting like you're the noble here."

"No," said Sebastian, needing him to understand, "I'm acting like a parent."

Ciel took in a deep, harsh breath through his nose. His gaze hardened. "Get away from me," he muttered. "The very idea of you makes me sick. I don't want to see you for the rest of the day. Get away from me now. It's an order."

There was nothing more that could be done now. Sebastian turned and left the room.

Regret rushed through him like the opening of the floodgates when the bedroom door was to his back. Sebastian put a hand to his forehead. Wrong… he had done it all wrong. This response was proof. What could possibly be done? How could he begin to heal a mistake so great as this? Not only had he deeply insulted and humiliated the boy, but he had in fact only succeeded in putting him in more danger and damaging their relationship in the process. Irreparably, maybe.

What could possibly be done?

He did not know.

… But perhaps he did not have to be the one to know.

Bard was mussing his hair dry with an old towel and chatting with Tanaka about their hay supply when Sebastian ventured into the kitchen. Sebastian did not know his own expression, but it must have been telling, because both men halted their conversation immediately. "Whoa, what's the matter?" Bard's eyebrows slumped in concern. "You look rough. Never seen you like this."

Tanaka gazed at him with equal trepidation. Sebastian took a moment to find his words. "I have made… a terrible mistake," he admitted at last. He paused; Tanaka and Bard waited imploringly. "I had my suspicions that the man our young master was visiting today, Mr. Fairclough, secretly wanted to hurt him. And so I confronted this man, in a moment of confusion… but my assumption was not quite correct. Fairclough did not want to cause harm at all. Now the young master is humiliated and refusing to speak with me. I deserve this; I made a false accusation against a person of higher standing, and I am lucky that it appears the young master will not bear the social consequences. But now I am no longer allowed near Fairclough and cannot defend the young master from him properly."

It was a brief explanation, lacking in much detail. But Tanaka and Bard understood Sebastian through and through. They knew he supplied them with only what was pertinent for them to hear. "So… you still think this Mr. Fairclough is dangerous?" Bard wanted to confirm. "And… the young master doesn't think so?"

Sebastian nodded, feeling a tiredness in his body. "That is what I believe. I don't have any true proof yet… but I feel very strongly that Mr. Fairclough isn't safe, yet he insists on cultivating a friendship with the young master. And the more I insist on the danger of it, the more the young master is keen on building this friendship."

Bard chewed at the toothpick between his teeth. "Mhm, I bet. Young people want to figure these things out for themselves. They don't want to be told they're wrong."

"Even if you don't possess definitive proof, the fact that you of all people have cause enough to worry is meaningful," Tanaka said. "It will be impossible to convince the young master to your side if he is feeling that you humiliated him."

Sebastian nodded again, deeply disappointed in himself. "The only good to come of this is that I may have frightened Mr. Fairclough off. But if I didn't succeed and Mr. Fairclough invites our young master back, I will have been barred from monitoring his safety. There will be nothing I can do."

"... If the young master receives Mr. Fairclough's invitation, that is," Bard said.

Sebastian felt wilted. "I can't kill Mr. Fairclough, I've been told to keep aw—"

"Geez, killing ain't what I meant! That's sort of a last resort, don'tcha think!" Hmm, perhaps I am a bit quick with my trigger finger… Bard cleared his throat. "I meant that if this Fairclough guy sends a letter, maybe it'd be better off never getting to the young master's hands."

Tanaka was at once opposed. "We certainly cannot do a thing like that. Withholding mail from him would be criminal. To even entertain it… I am surprised at the turn of this discussion. It is an utter breach of trust."

Bard continued to appeal to Sebastian. "You tol' me a few months ago that sometimes we'd need to go against our positions and protect the young master because he's not old enough to know best yet," he said. "I think this is one a' those times. The young master needs us to look after him, no matter the cost for us."

Tanaka was grave. "This isn't the way to do it. We cannot keep things behind his back. It breaks trust, and he must trust us."

Bard put a hand on his hip. A serious air fell over him. He pinched the toothpick and took it out from his teeth. "... Look… I dunno if you were ever a father at one point yourself, Tanaka… but… I know that if I had felt off about a guy, and he tried to send letters to my kid… I can promise you that my kid was never gonna know about those letters."

Tanaka's expression said he felt the importance of Bard's words, but still he pushed, "I cannot condone this. It isn't legal, and it isn't right. If the young master will not listen to reason, then he must be allowed to continue communicating with this man. We have no say in this matter."

"What about the Midfords?" Bard threw out an arm. "Can we get them to help somehow? They might change his mind, they have the power to do that."

"They have already tried," Sebastian said softly. "He would not listen."

The room was quiet for a long minute.

"I say we go with my idea," Bard finally muttered.

"It isn't right." But Tanaka's words barely sounded like an argument at that point.

"Perhaps… perhaps we can start by monitoring what the letters say," Sebastian realized. "I know how to open envelopes and replace the seal without the wax looking disturbed. I can see what Fairclough is writing to the young master and decide if it is unsafe from there. And if a letter includes an invitation to visit him… then perhaps we can consider more serious action."

"First you need to try talking to the young master again, when he is calmer," Tanaka said. "It sounds as if the way you behaved was very serious, Mr. Sebastian. Let us not worsen the situation with deception."

"Call it whatever you want, it's protecting him," Bard huffed.

Sebastian looked between the two men briefly — each so different in their philosophies, each his ally in raising this child — and closed his eyes. "I owe the young master an apology, that much is clear to me. More than one, even… I have damaged our relationship, and I hardly know if I can mend it properly. I fear what I have done is irreversible."

"It only feels that way now." Sebastian opened his lids at the pressure of Tanaka's hand on his arm. The senior servant gave him a smile, the decades of his own experience adding to its soothing quality. "Children cannot stay angry forever, even if they wish they could. You have been too long by the young master's side for him to dismiss you now. I have seen the change in him. He does not want you to go away. Just give him time. The moment to apologize properly will arrive."

Sebastian tried to allow himself to be reassured by Tanaka's promise. And yet it was Bard's advice that he found his thoughts returning to. Those words were like a guarantee that he could still keep his young master safe, even if Henri Fairclough had been rendered untouchable. He could still control this situation.

---

※: A turbot is a flatfish that is pretty large, usually enough to serve five or six people, with the fins being an especial delicacy. Mrs. Beeton's cookbook even recounts a story where an amateur chef once removed the fins from the turbot of a bishop that he worked for, and the bishop sewed them back on himself with a needle and thread.

※※: The Metaphysical Society was a group of Christian intellectuals that actually dissolved in 1880. They were known for being strongly opinionated and strongly passionate about all things metaphysical. They were some of the early contributors to The Nineteenth Century and got the magazine off the ground. They would sometimes publish their thoughts on articles in subsequent issues, not always thinking highly of people outside their society.

※※※:The pupil-teacher system was a teaching method incorporated into schools for students that wanted to become professors. However, as Ciel states, most of the people who went through the apprenticeship often felt so mistreated by their assigned professor that they would come out of it embittered to the role.