Music I listened to while writing :Voilà (instrumental) - The Harmony Group
Chapter 7 : The Rook and Knight Pre-Final
Ciel was seated on the large couch, nestled against the velvet cushions in the middle of the boudoir. His legs dangled carelessly in the air.
He had distanced himself from the noisy crowd that had flooded his manor, seeking comfort far from the world before the coming storm.
In the silence, he allowed himself a moment of escape, a magazine resting on his lap. His eyes delicately skimmed over the words covering the pages, which he unconsciously caressed with his slender fingers. The book was slightly worn, and the pages were creased, as if they had been read and reread endlessly. The edges were slightly dog-eared. As he scanned the text, the boy seemed to murmur the words he now knew almost by heart.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps coming from the hallway caught his attention. Closing the magazine, he carefully tucked it under the cushions, just as a soft knock sounded at the door.
"Come in."
Sebastian entered the room and approached his master.
Bowing slightly, he said, "Please excuse my intrusion, Young Master, I wanted to inform you that Undertaker has left for London."
"What did he say?" the young man asked without looking at his servant.
"Lord Siemens was on the Shinigamis' list," the butler replied . "But it seems our adversaries intended to have you accused of the murder. He did what needed to be done with Lord Siemens' body."
"Accused?" Ciel said, with a sad smile, his eyes lost in the void. "Their hatred is strong enough not only to destroy me but to drag the Phantomhive name through the mud as well?"
Sebastian didn't respond, but Ciel wasn't expecting anything from him.
Images flooded his memory: Freckles' face, twisted by pain and hatred. The young girl had shed useless tears, vowing to avenge herself, telling him she would never forgive him.
And by speaking a name—his demon's name—he had shattered her. He had crushed the pitiful attack of that wounded, yet weak girl.
Ciel had seen a reflection of his own image in Freckles' despair.
Would his desire for revenge have been as pathetic as hers, if a demon didn't walk by his side?
"It's fair play," the Earl murmured.
"Young Master?" Sebastian inquired, as if not grasping his words.
"I understand," Ciel said, standing up and adjusting the folds of his navy blue waistcoat. "Snake has lost everything; he seeks to avenge his 'world,' the one I destroyed. I'm a good sport, I accept it."
Sebastian grabbed his master's jacket, which rested on a nearby Voltaire chair. He moved behind the Earl and helped him slip on the garment.
"And now he has an immortal ally at his side to exact revenge," Ciel continued, his voice steady and detached. "Just like me."
He turned toward Sebastian, a mischievous smile playing on his small lips.
"The game promises to be interesting."
Walking past his servant, the boy seemed determined to join his guests, but his butler stopped him with his smooth voice.
"Shall I put this away?"
Tensing, the boy turned to face his demon. Sebastian reached under the cushions, pulling out the magazine and showing it to the young Earl without looking at it, as though he already knew what it was.
"You read it again," the butler said simply, a knowing smile dancing on his full lips when he saw that the Earl made no move to take the object he was offering.
He opened the magazine, flipping through its pages. Ciel watched but refused to respond.
"I myself find this story quite interesting. Mr. Doyle has real talent. It's a shame he believes otherwise."
He lifted his copper eyes to his master, smiling with compassion.
"You seemed very disappointed when he said he didn't plan to continue his work."
He placed the magazine, theBeeton's Christmas Annual 1887, on the small mahogany desk and added in a slow, gentle voice:
"Despite what he said, after this adventure, he might write again. Don't you wish for a continuation to his story?"
Ciel pressed his lips together, forming a thin line of disdain, but still remained silent.
Oh, how he hated that mocking smile on the demon's face! He wished he could scratch it away, just to rid himself of that expression.
Sebastian moved across the room with supernatural speed, yet not a single step made a sound on the wooden floor. In an instant, he was next to the boy, towering over him with calm, but the intensity of his eyes sent a shiver through the young man. Slowly, Sebastian leaned in closer, so that one of his dark locks brushed against Ciel's cheek.
"Do you have something to ask of me, Young Master?" the demon murmured, raising his fingers toward the Earl without touching him, while the warmth of his breath burned the boy's skin. "Perhaps a cancellation of an order?"
And Ciel remembered his words:
"If he becomes too curious, we will get rid of him. I don't have time to dwell on the sentimentalities of a stranger."
"Sentimentalities? I think his affection for you is real," the demon said, though a pleased smile was already painted on his face.
"I couldn't care less," Ciel objected as he headed for the door, before abruptly turning back toward the butler. "If he becomes a threat, kill him!"
And the demon bowed.
"Yes, my Lord."
"No," he coldly said, "and I don't like repeating my orders!"
Sebastian straightened, stepped back, and bowed slightly toward his master, his right hand gracefully placed over his heart.
"Forgive me, Young Master. I will do as you have commanded."
He walked past Ciel and opened the door to the corridor, allowing his master to pass. The evening promised to be captivating.
"Mr. Doyle, the rain seems to be easing. Will we soon be able to return home?"
Arthur turned away from the window and looked at the blonde-haired woman who gazed at him expectantly. While he felt a certain tenderness toward her haggard eyes and trembling form, he was increasingly frustrated by her incessant questions—questions for which he had no answers. He felt trapped in this manor, longing to escape the heavy responsibility thrust upon him.
Nevertheless, offering a reassuring smile to the singer, he gently explained:
"We'll need the sun to come out so the road can dry; otherwise, no carriage will be able to get through. The river must have overflowed. I'm sorry, Lady Irene, but I doubt we'll be able to leave today."
He then noticed Inspector Abberline entering the room and signaled for him to approach.
"Frederick, Lady Irene was asking when the guests will be able to leave the manor."
"I just spoke with Lord Randall on the phone from the Earl's office," Abberline said. "If the weather holds and the roads dry, they should be able to come for us tomorrow morning."
"Another night here?" the young woman exclaimed, placing a trembling hand over her heart as fear marred her elegant features.
"Do not worry, madam," Abberline said, bowing slightly before her. "We understand the situation is difficult, but you are well-protected, and we are beginning to piece together the circumstances of this dark affair. You are safe, milady."
"Thank you, Inspector," the singer replied, her cheeks flushing. "I know you both to be competent and trustworthy gentlemen. And Mr. Sebastian seems quite capable of handling whatever is pursuing us. I feel reassured."
Arthur stiffened at the mention of the butler, clenching his jaw to keep a flood of angry words from spilling from his lips. He turned away and fixed his gaze on the garden.
Sebastian… Sebastian…He wondered if there had ever been a name he loathed as much as this one.
Yet, he preferred thinking of the butler rather than his master, who hadn't responded to his kisses the previous night. After several attempts, he had given up. The boy seemed particularly troubled, even absent, leaving behind only an empty shell in bed next to Arthur, a body that ignored every one of his caresses.
Still, during the night, he had felt the cool fingers of the young Earl brush his lips gently. He had then felt him embrace him for a brief moment, seeking warmth after what was likely a nightmare. Yet by morning, he was himself once more: cold and merciless.
Shaking his head, Arthur wondered what plan the butler and his master had concocted to rid themselves of their killer.
"The hero is keeping us waiting…"
Abberline smiled. He nervously ran his fingers over his goatee.
"The plans of the Earl and his butler are always successful. I feel reassured having him with us. Even if…"
"Even if…?" Arthur repeated, looking at his auburn-haired friend.
"I hate their methods," Abberline finally said. "I find them fascinating, just like you do. Don't look at me like that, I can tell you admire them! As a writer, you fantasize about this kind of individual who gives all the substance to your novel heroes."
Arthur couldn't help but smile sadly.
"But they represent… everything I despise. Corruption, lies, the underworld, trafficking of all kinds… As an inspector, with faith in justice, their existence depresses me. You know, in one case, they even broke into the police archives, and to silence me, they gave me money! I refused it, but I found it… insulting."
"No one denounces their methods?" the writer asked, disillusioned.
"Arthur, the Queen pays them through the police budget, and the London commissioner compensates the Earl with bribes!"
"What a rotten kingdom…" Arthur murmured, suddenly thinking a glass of straight whiskey would be welcome.
"According to Lord Randall, it would be even more rotten if Earl Phantomhive didn't exist. I wish he were wrong."
The young writer gave the inspector a knowing smile, feeling reassured that there was someone in the London police who held ideals of justice and happiness similar to his own.
"Frederick…" he murmured, approaching the man, "I want you to help me understand the truth of this case before…"
"Before what, Arthur?"
"Before they lie to us."
"I never lie, Mr. Wordsmith."
Abberline jumped at the sudden appearance of the butler beside them. He hadn't heard him arrive and blushed at the thought of what he might have overheard. Arthur, on the other hand, stared at him with obvious hostility, his body rigid.
Sebastian ignored him and, bowing, added, "If you would please join the other guests around the table in the drawing room, I have an announcement to make."
Standing before all the manor's occupants, the butler commanded everyone's attention. His young master sat beside him in a mauve velvet armchair, his gaze serene, galvanized by the omnipotent presence of his servant.
"All eyes are hanging on those manipulative red lips,"Arthur thought bitterly. Yet no one questioned how this servant, dressed in black, could stand there so straight and immaculate, despite nearly dying two days ago.
He gritted his teeth, nearly cracking them, in the face of this assembly of blind fools. No one noticed that the butler no longer wore a bandage around his head! As if a deep, fatal wound hadn't cracked open the back of his skull. What a farce! No, in their fear, they all wanted to place their unconditional hope in whoever could save them, no matter how strange, illogical, or absurd his actions might be—and no matter the cost.
But his bitter thoughts were interrupted by Sebastian's honeyed voice.
"Lady and Gentlemen, I will ask for your full attention. My Young Master and I have devised a plan to catch the killer, and we would like to share it with you."
The butler raised his index finger and simply announced,
"First, we must seal the pipes and ventilation ducts."
The guests exchanged confused glances, searching for some invisible logic in his words.
"Seal the ventilation ducts?" Grimsby repeated slowly. "But what exactly are we protecting ourselves from?"
Sebastian opened a small linen bag that had been placed on the coffee table beside him and pulled out a very thin skin.
"What is that?" Keane asked, grimacing.
"It is a shed skin," Sebastian explained. "I found it in the ventilation duct of the Young Master's room. And not just any shed skin. It's from a black mamba, a venomous, deadly snake."
Irene screamed, clinging to her fiancé, who was just as hysterical as she was, while many other guests lifted their legs ridiculously, as if a snake might slither between their feet. Others scrutinized every corner of the room, searching intently for a stray reptile. Bard and Mei Rin had taken refuge behind Finni and Tanaka.
"Rest assured, the snakes are no longer on the premises," the butler added slowly, "but they will surely return. And they are extremely dangerous. Mr. Phelps died from one of their bites."
Arthur cleared his throat and intervened without looking at the other guests, who were slowly calming down.
"Baxter Vynne, the coroner who came to examine the bodies, told us that snakes wouldn't have entered here on their own. If they're here, someone brought them."
"They were brought in by our attacker," murmured Abberline. "A snake handler?"
"A snake handler... like in a circus?" asked Charles Gray, staring pointedly at Earl Phantomhive.
But Ciel ignored him with a regal indifference.
"Like in a circus?" Sebastian repeated in a distant voice, a faint smile on his lips. "Yes, that's possible.
"So, this snake handler is the murderer! But why would this man commit these crimes, and why would he return?" asked Woodley.
Arthur wanted to step in, as it seemed obvious to him that Ciel was the killer's main target. He was certain that the snake that killed Phelps had been intended for Ciel and that Siemens' murder was meant to tarnish his honor. He wanted to speak, to reassure the guests about the murderer's motives, and say that Ciel Phantomhive was the true target.
However, the fierce gleam in the icy eyes of the Queen's butler, as he looked at the young Earl, instinctively silenced him. Ciel and Sebastian clearly knew that Earl Phantomhive was the target, and that simple declaration could calm the other guests, who feared for their lives. But the fact that both men remained silent about this crucial point meant that revealing it posed a danger to the young nobleman.
Arthur bit his lip, furiously wondering where his loyalty lay: with his reason or with his heart.
To his great surprise, however, the young Earl intervened in his clear, cold voice:
"Mr. Phelps was killed by one of those snakes while he was in my room. It's possible that I am the intended target of this criminal, and if that's the case, he may know that he failed and will return to finish what he started."
Charles Gray let out a disdainful sound through his clenched teeth and pinched lips, seemingly enjoying seeing the young boy in a compromising position.
"So these are assumptions? You don't know if the criminal will return?" Keane hissed.
Ciel smiled and replied, "Yes, we are assuming."
"And we will then need everyone who knows how to fight to catch him," the butler added. "That means Mr. Lau, Lady Ran Mao, and Mr. Gray."
"Ah, finally, things are getting interesting! Very well! But if he really does return, what will we need?" Lau asked Sebastian.
"Darkness, patience... and an Indian flute."
"An Indian flute?" Abberline asked, frowning.
"Apungi to be precise," Sebastian explained enthusiastically. "A remarkable instrument used by snake charmers. You see, snakes are deaf. They're not hypnotized by the music, but by the vibrations in the instrument's resonator and the movements of the flute."
"You want to charm the snakes?" Abberline asked, his voice bewildered, as if the butler had gone mad. He looked around at the other guests, wondering if he was the only one who didn't understand the plan. "But why?"
"So they can lead us to their master," Ciel said, raising a hand with a weary gesture. "Without them, we won't be able to find the criminal who brought them into the castle."
"Then why do you need Mr. Lau, Lady Ran Mao, and myself to assist you?" Charles Gray asked lasciviously.
"The killer seems to communicate with or at least control these reptiles," Sebastian said. "The flute can charm them to force them to reveal their master, but he will likely break the charm once they're reunited. The snakes could become very dangerous under their master's orders. We will need to act quickly to subdue the reptiles and capture the culprit."
"You'd better hope you can attract the snakes!" Woodley suddenly snapped. "We could very well get bitten by those filthy creatures while you're busy playing your ridiculous flute!"
"The young master will help me with that."
Ciel looked up at his butler, surprised. Sebastian had revealed nothing about this part of the plan, and he hadn't expected to be involved, especially when it came to the snakes.
"To be clear, the Young Master and I will wait in his room for the snakes to show themselves."
"But why would they come to you?" asked Woodley, clearly exasperated by his inability to understand.
"As I mentioned earlier, we will block the pipes and vents in the manor to prevent the snakes from spreading throughout the castle and to keep you safe. But you must know that snakes are sensitive to smells. Based on the assumption that the killer truly seeks the death of the Earl, they should be attracted by his scent. I will ask the servants to circulate throughout the manor carrying Bakhor Thany, an Indian incense with a very powerful fragrance, which should eliminate other odors, particularly those of your own bodies. All rooms will be perfumed except for the Young Master's, where he and I will wait for the snakes. His scent should lead them to us."
"You seem well-versed in Indian arts and culture," Grimsby remarked with interest.
Sebastian smiled and said, "I have an Indian friend who taught me many things."
He sharply clapped his white-gloved hands and added, "Now that you know the main points of the plan, I'll explain the final details. Mr. Doyle, Mr. Woodley, Lady Irène, and Mr. Keane will remain in the small drawing room. The Young Master and I will be in the main bedroom, alone, while the servants continue to spread the incense throughout the manor. Mr. Gray, Mr. Lau, Lady Ran Mao, and Mr. Abberline will wait outside the bedroom so their scents won't interfere with that of the Young Master. When I leave the room, playing the flute and followed by the charmed snakes, Mr. Gray, Mr. Lau, and Lady Ran Mao will follow me to the killer's hideout. Mr. Abberline will stay with the Young Master and escort him safely back to the drawing room. Are there any questions?"
The room remained silent. No one seemed to have a better solution, and to be perfectly honest, the plan was clever, and it could work.
Arthur went over every point Sebastian had made, and he found only one flaw: the plan could only lead to the capture of one killer, the one responsible for Phelps' death, who hadn't even killed him directly but had used reptiles to commit the murder.
But what about the true killer, the one who kills with his own hands, with rage and passion, and revels in the taste of savagery and blood? That evil genius, the killer who wasn't quite human…
Yet he kept his convictions to himself. He knew that tonight, he would have the answers he sought, whether the Earl liked it or not.
Ciel stood. His fingers clenched around his cane as he said, "Well, if no one objects to this plan, let's get to work."
Sebastian bowed and took a step toward the servants to give them instructions when the haughty voice of Gray rang out.
"The Queen will surely not appreciate an honored guest being murdered due to a disastrous mission you were incapable of completing," Charles Gray declared dryly.
The room stiffened. The young Earl slowly turned toward the man seated on the couch, sitting up straight.
"A disastrous mission I was incapable of completing?" Ciel repeated, his piercing gaze fixed on the Count, his voice betraying a silent fury that transformed into icy disdain. "I would appreciate it, Count, if you showed more discretion regarding the matters I handle with the Queen. As Her Majesty's butler, I expect more restraint from you. Do not interrupt me! If you insult me in my own home, at least have the courtesy to hear me out!"
The count, who had been about to stand to cut him off, sat back down, surprised by the boy's words.
"As for this matter," Ciel continued reluctantly but with clarity, as all eyes focused on his frail figure, "since you are so eager to discuss it and are convinced that I have failed, know this: I may not have fulfilled all of the Queen's objectives, but the criminals have been neutralized, and there will be no more victims of this madness. I consider this mission a success."
"Success? You call that a successful mission?" Gray spat, his hand clenched around his sword, as if disgusted by the mere sight of the boy. "Many unjustified victims, Earl, many needless losses! Not to mention the murders that took place in this manor because of it!"
"There is no proof that this criminal is linked to the case you're referring to, Count Gray," Ciel retorted, his cold, stern gaze locked on the man dressed in white. "I've been in Her Majesty's service for three years. Do you think I am immune to the desire for vengeance that comes with my position? You and Her Majesty both know that my family has many enemies, and my role creates many adversaries as a result of the missions ordered by Her Majesty. I accept my duty with honor."
He placed the hand bearing the Phantomhive seal over his heart.
"But I know that this puts my life in danger at every moment. And you know it, and so does the Queen. Yet, knowing the danger that every person near me faces, the Queen herself ordered me to host this reception. And you! Yes, you! With your grand airs of an immaculate Count embalmed in sanctity, weren't you the one who tested the manor's security to ensure this kind of incident wouldn't happen?"
Charles Gray suddenly went pale, his throat dry, but his face quickly flushed with the red of shame. The guests had turned toward him at the Earl's words, and in their fearful eyes, he read the proof of his own incompetence.
"Who is responsible for what is happening here, Count?" Ciel asked. "Me? Certainly! But neither you nor the Queen are blameless. I suggest you focus on capturing this killer, which may help restore both my honor and yours!"
A swamp.That's what the Phantomhive estate resembled after the storm had passed. The trees, still bare in the absence of a shy spring, brandished their branches like sinister, monstrous claws over the park's paths. The faint rays of sunlight filtering through thick clouds warmed the muddy ground, spreading a menacing mist across the gardens.
Arthur had taken refuge in the conservatory, whose large windows overlooked a charming terrace now ravaged by the rain, strewn with dead leaves and rose petals torn away by the March winds. He watched the weak glimmers of light piercing the sky, illuminating the desolate landscape.
Though lost in his melancholic contemplation, he heard the light footsteps approaching him. But he ignored them.
Ciel had entered the conservatory and was observing the man, dressed only in a shirt and vest, leaning against the frame of the French doors.
Without looking at him, Arthur opened the window, letting in a refreshing breeze that softened his sense of confinement, and slowly extended his arm outside. The light drizzle falling from the sky began to dot the sleeve of his shirt.
"What are you waiting for?" asked the boy in a reproachful tone, as if he were addressing a lazy child.
"I'm enjoying life while I still can."
"What do you mean?"
The voice was softer now.
"You and your butler act like you have everything under control," he explained, still refusing to look at the Earl. "But you're afraid. I can see it. Something frightens you, and I don't know what it is."
"Nothing frightens me," Ciel snapped.
"And Gray?"
"Gray?" the boy echoed in surprise.
"He knows things," Arthur smiled knowingly, as if he held a secret. "To you, he's almost more dangerous than the killers."
Ciel exhaled sharply, as if dismissing the writer's words as nonsense, but he didn't respond. He noticed the small ink stains that marred the wrist of his shirt.
"What have you been writing to get your shirt in that state?" he asked, almost disdainfully.
Arthur turned toward him, still keeping his arm outside in the light rain.
"Perhaps I've written down everything that's happened here?" he said, amused by the fleeting expressions of doubt, surprise, and weakness crossing his lover's face. "Along with my suspicions about you and your butler."
"Stop it, you haven't written anything about this!" Ciel cried, stepping closer, his body trembling, his face pale.
"Want to bet?" Arthur asked, savoring the tremors of fury shaking the boy's body. Finally, some emotion on that icy face! He had been waiting for this all day. "Maybe I've written a compromising letter? So, if something happens to me, someone will discover the truth!"
"Don't play with that, Arthur," Ciel warned in a murmur. "This isn't a game."
"I'm sure Charles Gray would be very interested in that letter."
Mad with rage, Ciel tried to slap the writer, but Arthur caught his arm, pulled him outside into the rain, and shoved him against the glass.
Pressing the boy against the window, Arthur kissed him, ignoring the biting cold wind, the rain, and the nails scratching at his skin as he wrapped his strong arms around the soft form. He felt fists pushing and pounding against him, but he didn't care. He was intoxicated by that sweetness, a drug he couldn't quit.
The complaints ceased, and Ciel finally responded to his kiss, hesitantly at first, but then he gave in completely, almost letting the writer's arms carry him, holding him close with all the strength of his passion.
Arthur pulled away from his fevered mouth but continued kissing him, letting his lips glide over his neck, lingering on the flesh where he could feel his heartbeat. He kept going lower until he knelt, caressing the curves of the Earl with his mouth and hands as he moved.
He grabbed Ciel by the wrists and pulled him down to the ground, forcing him to lie on the bed of damp leaves and scattered roses that covered the cobblestones.
He heard Ciel murmur his name, and he caressed his face, tracing his body with trembling fingers. He straightened to look at his lover, but Ciel wasn't looking at him.
His eye was turned toward the clouds, and the rain trickled down his face, sliding over his cheeks.
In love, Arthur leaned down over him again. His lips caressed cold skin, a soft cheek, a tender throat, a seductive, pale shoulder. Gently, he burned the damp flesh with his kisses.
It felt as though eternity wouldn't be enough to ravage this body the way he desired, that he could never be satisfied with this soft, white skin that was his, in this moment.
He touched him, loved him, twisted against him, savoring him over and over.
Mad with desire, he began to open Ciel's trousers and his own, but his wrists were caught and held by fine hands:
"Stop, no, they might see us!" Ciel's voice was hoarse, blurred by pleasure.
Arthur suddenly straightened, tearing himself from the young man's grip, and wrapped his arms around him. He lifted the boy, who gasped in surprise, and pressed him against the glass wall. He trapped the fragile form between his own body and the window, so that the Earl's legs dangled helplessly in the air. With a sharp thrust of his hips, Arthur managed to position himself between his thighs.
Taking advantage of his shock, he finished opening both of their trousers, freeing their hardened members.
He pressed himself against the boy, ignoring the weak and useless "no"s whispered to him, and began to grind his body against Ciel's brutally, without restraint.
At the first thrust, Ciel cried out, shattering any will to resist, and wrapped his arms around Arthur's head, digging his nails into his hair. His fingers clumsily grasped at his lover, his hair, his shirt, his skin, as the pleasure surged through him in burning, unbearable waves, making him alternately tremble and cry out under the repeated assaults of the man possessing his body with such passion.
Arthur knew he was being too rough, but he reveled in the sensation of being able to crush his lover's body against the glass with each delicious thrust. He thought the window might shatter under the pressure of their fiery bodies.
"You're hurting me!" Ciel gasped, his fingers gripping Arthur's shoulders.
"I know," he murmured, his lips pressed against Ciel's throat, licking and biting every inch of skin that came near his mouth.
Ciel quivered and writhed under the painful kisses and the movements of his lover against his lower abdomen. He tried to squeeze his thighs around Arthur's hips to lessen the friction, but the waves of pleasure numbed his strength, reducing him to a disjointed doll in the arms of the man drawing moans of ecstasy from him.
As the dampness of their aroused bodies made the friction more slippery and exciting, their movements became more disjointed and erratic.
When Ciel's breathing became ragged and short, and Arthur realized he was on the verge of climaxing between their burning bodies, he let his fingers slide down the boy's back, then onto his buttocks.
Ciel cried out and arched his back, trying to escape the intrusive hand and the overwhelming, forbidden sensation that left him in ecstasy. But already, the orgasm overtook his body, and seeking Arthur's mouth, he muffled his pleasure against his lips, even as his lover spilled the liquid remnants of their passion onto his skin.
Arthur's legs gave way, and he slid to his knees on the ground, pulling the dazed, trembling boy down with him, still holding him tightly against his heart.
They remained like that for a while, in an uncomfortable position.
Sitting with his back against the glass, Ciel gazed at the man kneeling between his legs. The writer pressed his forehead to Ciel's, seeming to reflect for a moment before beginning to kiss him again.
"That was stupid, what you did," the boy finally said between kisses. "Look at us, we're soaked."
But he wasn't angry. Arthur kissed him again, slowly, savoring the touch of his tongue against his own.
"Why do I feel like this is the last time I'll taste your lips?" he murmured, breaking the kiss.
"Because you're scared, and because you're mad," the young Earl replied, shrugging.
"You've driven me mad."
Ciel began to laugh, but Arthur didn't feel hurt. The Earl laughed without mockery, and without joy either.
"Why did you accept today what you refused me yesterday?" Arthur asked, his hands never leaving his lover.
"I refused. If you had listened closely, you would have heard me say no."
"But yesterday, if I had taken you, I would've been making love to a corpse."
"Charming…" the young man simply said, closing his eyes.
The writer rested his forehead against Ciel's. There was a moment of silence.
"Louisa is dying," he whispered, his fingers trailing over the boy's frail shoulders, barely covered by his shirt.
"I know," Ciel replied without emotion, his eyes still closed. "But why are you telling me this?"
Arthur took his face in his hands and lifted it toward his own, caressing his cheeks to get him to look at him.
"Soon, I could… Soon, we could…"
But his voice faded. No matter how much he searched for the words, he knew it was useless. What he wanted was simple.
"Come with me. Let me take you away from here."
"But where, for God's sake?" Ciel exclaimed, pushing away the hands that wouldn't stop touching him.
"Anywhere! Wherever you want!" the writer found himself pleading.
"What romanticism!"
And in his mouth, it was an insult.
"Why stay if all you have here is danger and misery? Do you enjoy living, thinking that an assassin waits for you around every corner?"
"You have no idea how stupid what you're saying is. I have a noble rank and a royal duty. You don't just leave the service of Her Majesty like that. And then… there's Sebastian."
Ciel fell silent. He didn't need to say more. But already, a spark of anger lit up in Arthur's eyes.
"If he weren't here, would you leave with me?" he asked in a low voice.
"Sebastian has nothing to do with this. If he weren't here, I wouldn't be either."
"Why? Did he save your life? Do you owe him something?"
Ciel began to laugh, a dark, almost sad laugh.
"No… no."
"He can't give you what I've given you, it's not in his nature, I can feel that. He can't hold you and love you like I do."
"Of course not!" Ciel said, irritated. At that moment, the conversation displeased him. Arthur displeased him. "And I don't expect that from him. You two are not comparable, Arthur. Stop seeing him as an enemy, or worse: as your rival."
Ciel adjusted his shirt, covering his pale shoulders, and fastened his cravat. Arthur wasn't looking at him anymore. The boy sighed.
"Tomorrow morning, you'll go home," he said while smoothing his damp hair with his fingers. "You'll return to your dull life as a doctor, and your promising future as a writer. You'll write stories adorned with your memories. Tales of madness and mystery. And your heroes will resemble us, because you'll fear forgetting us. But in the end, these nights, these events, and your hands on me… all of it will fade from your memory."
"No, that's not true."
"You'll see." He reached out a gentle hand and caressed his cheek. "Just give yourself some time."
Arthur suddenly stood up, disillusioned, pulling himself away from the boy who was crushing his heart. He looked at the dying sun in the distance, behind the twisted trees of the estate. He felt the tears flowing inside him that he couldn't shed.
Ciel stood up as well and approached him.
"The sun is setting," he said softly. He placed his fingers on his lover's sleeve. "What did you write? Tell me."
But it wasn't an order.
He looked beautiful in the twilight, with rose petals still clinging to his hair. Arthur wanted to reach out and touch them, but he held back.
"You'll see," he whispered.
"It's not a letter for Charles Gray, is it?" Ciel murmured, biting his lip.
"No, it's for you. You'll see." He seemed to hesitate for a moment before adding, "But Gray… he wants your head. This mission… what did you do?"
Ciel parted his lips, but then closed them again. His body stiffened, and his eyes drifted toward the horizon.
"I decided not to save some children," he said in a soft voice. "Children who were like me."
"Not save them? They died?"
"They were already dead." Ciel made a weary gesture, not wanting to talk about it. "Even if they were still breathing, they were already dead."
"But why…?"
Ciel placed a finger on his lips.
"Don't mistake the beating of my heart; I'm already dead. That's why I have to stay here, always. What I do here, what I want to accomplish, is what makes me feel alive again."
And his skin was as cold as his words. Arthur let the boy wrap his arms around him and rest his head against his chest. Surprised but not showing it, he returned the embrace tenderly, knowing that words could ruin this rare moment of softness.
"Have you read Edgar Poe?" Ciel asked.
"Yes."
"Do you remember the poem…The Raven?"
"Yes."
"Recite the last stanza to me, recite it for me."
And as shades of purple and crimson pierced through the clouds, and night began to take over the sky, Arthur's slow, deep voice rose among the rustling of dead leaves carried by the wind:
"And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!"
Mei Rin entered the room of Earl Phantomhive. The curtains were drawn, the lights turned off. Only a few candles and the glowing fire in the hearth cast the still shadow of the butler across the room.
"We've finished sealing the vents," she said, approaching Sebastian, surprised by his motionless posture. "We had to use some of the linens. The guests are all gathered in the small salon. What would you like us to do now?"
Sebastian handed her three censers, their weight surprising Mei Rin, who gripped the chains tightly to avoid dropping them.
"Ask Finni to bring the Young Master, as well as Mr. Abberline, Mr. Lau, Lady Ran Mao, and Mr. Gray. In the meantime, you and Bard will start spreading the incense from the east and west wings, working your way toward the main wing. Finni will join you."
"Understood."
But she didn't move, her eyes fixed on the floor. Something had been bothering her ever since the plan had been mentioned that morning. She didn't understand why Sebastian hadn't asked the servants, the personal army of the Phantomhive household, to join the other fighters. She was about to speak, but Sebastian cut her off.
"I know that Finni, Bard, and you are skilled in combat, Mei Rin. I haven't forgotten. That's why I'm going to ask you to do something else."
He approached the young woman, whose sharp and merciless eyes were fixed on him through her large round glasses.
"While I handle the snake charmer, you and the others will need to find someone for me. A killer."
"Another killer?" she murmured, a mischievous smile on her lips, already envisioning her plan to hunt. A little mouse, a little mouse hiding in the manor that needed to be caught.
"But this one is dangerous," Sebastian continued in a dark, serious tone. "Very dangerous. I don't want you to attack him. He'll be stronger than you."
"What do we do?" asked the young woman, her voice filled with confidence, cold and unyielding, a tone few people ever heard from her.
"Find him. Just find him."
"How will we recognize him and not confuse him with the other?"
Sebastian smiled and slowly added, "He'll be wearing Madam Red's red coat."
The young woman suddenly tensed, clenching her fists.
The butler continued, "When you know where he's hiding, come and get me."
"At your command, Sir."
And the killer within her was awakened once more.
Sebastian then looked up toward the door of the room as if expecting an intrusion that Mei Rin hadn't heard. The handle turned gently, and Arthur entered the room.
Sebastian noted the change in clothes but wasn't surprised. He had personally helped the Young Master trade his navy blue suit for a darker one. His suit was dirty and damp, but Sebastian had detected the scent of roses clinging to the fabric.
He nodded to Mei Rin, who took her leave, and then turned to the young doctor.
"Mr. Conan Doyle, forgive me, but you should be with the other guests in the small parlor."
"That was the stipulation in your plan, Mr. Sebastian. But with all due respect, I'd prefer to stay with Inspector Abberline."
Sebastian felt a nervous tension ripple down his spine as he looked at the writer. However, he smiled and approached the young doctor.
"I'm afraid I must insist, Mr. Doyle," he said in a courteous but firm tone. "You are a guest, and I cannot knowingly allow you to put yourself in danger in this matter."
"What about Mr. Lau and Lady Ran Mao?" Arthur countered.
He thought he saw a fleeting, threatening expression cross the butler's face that chilled him to the bone, but quickly, the mischievous smile returned.
"They are particular associates of the Phantomhive household," the butler explained diplomatically. "We can call upon their support in certain… specific matters."
Arthur stepped closer to Sebastian. He shivered as he realized the butler was a few centimeters taller than him. But, clenching his fists, he said,
"I understand. But you see, I was designated as the leader in this matter before you returned. I think I can use that authority to assert my position. And what I want is to stay with Inspector Abberline to escort the Earl of Phantomhive back to the small parlor."
"Why do you wish to be present, Mr. Doyle?" Sebastian asked. "Is it due to a strong inclination toward my Young Master?"
"Yes, in part."
Sebastian had expected to provoke some discomfort in the doctor and was not prepared for such a quick and clear response. The young man had certainly changed since his arrival at the manor.
"I know you want to take the Earl with you," he said gently while assessing Arthur. "But that is impossible."
"And why is that?" Doyle inquired, raising an eyebrow.
"Because that's not what he wants. And more importantly..." he added with a playful smile, tilting his head slightly to the side, "...I will never let you take him."
"I love him."
Sebastian flinched at this declaration. Though he disliked the sound of such a simple phrase, he couldn't help but find it ridiculous.
Pressing his bent finger to his lips, he sneered mockingly.
"Ah, love... It explains so much about you, Arthur. But I'm afraid you've chosen poorly. You see, in this manor, you'll find very few who understand that passion. To be honest, I don't know what love is. And unfortunately for you, the Earl doesn't either."
But Arthur didn't seem fazed.
"Fine. You're telling me my feelings for Ciel Phantomhive will never be reciprocated and that both you and he are devoid of any human compassion. So be it. I can accept that. But I still wish to stay with Inspector Abberline."
"Why put yourself in danger when you could patiently wait for this whole ordeal to end and take the first carriage tomorrow morning to return to your wife and child?"
"Why? Oh, it's very simple. I don't trust you. Neither you nor the Earl. And Inspector Abberline shares this sentiment. That's why I refuse to let you push me away. I'll remain in the thick of things, with or without your consent."
Arthur waited a moment for the butler to respond, but he didn't. He merely gazed coldly at the young man. Satisfied, Doyle slowly moved away, watching the servant's impassive face as he headed toward the door.
"And besides, think about it, Mr. Sebastian, you might need Abberline's or my help..."
Sebastian raised an eyebrow, seeming not to understand.
"Need help?" he repeated darkly.
"Yes, after all, you failed miserably 'that night.' It would be a shame if he managed to kill you this time."
A shadow crossed Sebastian's eyes, but he said nothing. Arthur almost wanted to laugh at the effort this perfect man was making to contain his anger. After flashing a final mischievous smile—one he was beginning to perfect—Arthur turned to leave, but Sebastian stopped him.
"Excuse me, Mr. Wordsmith, but it seems you have a stain on your clothes."
"A stain? It's probably ink," Arthur replied lazily.
"No," Sebastian insisted. "It's on your chest."
He made a courteous gesture for the writer to step closer, into the light of the chandelier.
"Allow me, please."
Eyeing him warily, Arthur ignored the soft voice in his head urging him to leave, and, gathering all his courage and pride, he stepped closer to the butler.
Sebastian gently placed his gloved hand on his chest. Arthur held his breath, but the servant merely scratched and tapped his finger against the writer's shirt over his heart.
"No, it's nothing," he finally said. "Just a reflection, perhaps."
Arthur exhaled softly. And as he relaxed, the butler tapped his chest again.
But when the fingertip touched his heart, an excruciating pain tore through his chest, as if a slab of marble had smashed into him with tremendous force. For a moment, he thought his ribs had shattered, piercing his heart with a thousand sharp splinters.
Gasping for air, his voice lost, Arthur collapsed to his knees, one hand on the ground and the other clutching his chest. Blood dripped onto the floor, spilling from his nose in dark streams.
On his knees, he caught sight of the butler's polished black shoes. Struggling against the pain, he lifted his eyes for a moment to see the man staring at him with disdain, while removing one of his gloves.
"Forgive me, Mr. Doyle, but... you're amusing me less and less."
Sebastian knelt down and leaned toward him. Arthur felt a hand run through his hair, an unfamiliar hand with long nails, as sharp as claws. A blurred face drew close to his, but Arthur did not recognize the butler's features, nor those reddish eyes, nor the feline teeth, nor the deep voice that echoed in his head.
"Consider this a warning:Ciel Phantomhive is mine."
The whispered words rang in his ears as the room began to spin. Numb despite the fading pain, he felt nauseous and thought he might faint. But what was that falling so gently to the ground? Black feathers?
Sebastian suddenly stood up. Footsteps echoed, and the door opened, revealing Earl Phantomhive, followed by Abberline and Finni. The boy stopped abruptly at the entrance of the room.
"What is...," murmured Ciel, noticing the writer on the floor and the blood staining the carpet.
"It's nothing," said Sebastian, a broad smile on his lips. "Mr. Doyle had a bit of a heart episode, stress, no doubt. A glass of brandy, and he should feel better. Finni, could you fetch one?"
"Of course!" said the young boy before disappearing down the hallway.
"Mr. Abberline, please help me lift him and sit him on the bed; the pain should have subsided by now."
Arthur was breathing normally again, though every heartbeat still ached. He pushed away the hands trying to help him and stood on his own, wiping the blood from his face with his sleeve.
After a few shaky steps, he raised his eyes to the Earl. But Ciel wasn't looking at him. His impassive gaze was fixed, as always, on his butler. Mixing the blood with the ink stains that already dotted his shirt, Arthur headed for the door.
"Do you need me to escort you to the drawing room, Arthur?" asked Abberline, following him with hands outstretched in case his friend stumbled.
"No need," he managed to say, the taste of blood still vivid in his mouth, trickling down his throat. "I'll wait with the others in the hallway... as agreed."
Ciel Phantomhive sat on his bed in the almost completely dark master bedroom. He wore only his nightshirt, as heavier clothing might compromise his scent and ruin the plan. At first, repelled by the idea of being seen like this, he had yielded to his demon's demands. Now, he watched the group of people whispering, while he listened to the final instructions from his butler. Every word lodged itself in his brain and bounced around his skull: "Stay still," "control your breathing," "remain calm."
As Sebastian assembled thepungi, he cast a glance at the two men sitting on the couch in Ciel's private quarters. He tried to read their lips, as he couldn't hear them.
"Do you have a heart condition?" asked Abberline.
"No."
"Then what happened?"
"I suddenly had a very violent arrhythmia," Arthur explained flatly, draining the last of the brandy he had been given. "That means my heart was no longer beating in a normal, regular rhythm."
"And is this something that happens often?" asked Abberline, who wasn't well-versed in medicine.
"No!" Arthur snapped. "No, Frederick, it doesn't happen 'often.' Arrhythmias don't just come on suddenly. That's impossible!"
"Then what?" began Abberline, bewildered.
"I don't know!" Arthur cut him off. He ran a hand over his forehead, wiping away cold sweat. "He tapped my chest. With his finger."
He raised his index finger toward Abberline, then laughed nervously.
"I'm losing my mind. God, I thought my heart was going to explode."
His hands began trembling again. He clasped them together to hide his weakness. Was he mad, after all? What had he seen leaning over him in his agony? That wasn't Sebastian! It was something else... a sinister, dangerous shadow.
He should've grabbed one of those feathers! Then he'd know if it had all been a dream. One of those damned black feathers...
A sudden sadness gripped his already suffering heart.
"You could let this go, Arthur."
"No," Conan Doyle replied, shaking his head. "I need to understand. If I leave now, without knowing, I'll always wonder if I imagined all of this. I'm not doing this just out of curiosity or a sense of justice. I need to know if I'm right, or if... if I should join my father in the Montrose psychiatric asylum."
"So, what do we do now?"
Arthur bit his lip. He glanced up, catching Ciel's gaze, and saw the shadow of his butler beside him. Instinctively, he placed a hand over his aching heart as words danced in his mind.
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting...
"Now," he murmured, "we wait... for the right moment."
"Ladies and gentlemen," Sebastian suddenly said, stepping into the center of the room, holding a chandelier in his gloved hand. "Everything is ready. It begins now. I will kindly ask you all to wait outside. Silently."
The room emptied slowly, in silence. Before closing the door, Arthur turned once more to look at the two figures who remained still inside. Ciel sat on his bed, wearing only a thin nightshirt. Beside him, his eyes glowing and lost in the dark, Sebastian still held the silver chandelier. And his shadow covered the fragile form of the Earl.
Turning away, Arthur closed the door behind them. He didn't know why he was trembling.
...And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
End of Chapter 7
Author's Notes:
The chapter is titled "The Rook and Knight Pre-Final," yet another reference to chess and its strategies. The Rook and Knight Pre-Final is typically the tactic used in chess against the opponent's Rook and Bishop duo in the endgame.
There will be more Ciel/Sebastian content in the next chapter.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I took my time to try and create a plausible plan and make it somewhat... logical? At least, I tried!
Edgar Poe's The Raven: In Chapter 14, page 2, we learn that Ciel readsThe Ravenby Edgar Poe, and it gives him nightmares. He even goes so far as to pull out a weapon and point it at Sebastian's forehead when he wakes him up.
So, I think Ciel makes a connection between Edgar Allan Poe's Raven and Sebastian Michaelis.
If you've never read this poem, please do! And read it slowly, in the dark. You won't be disappointed. It's heart-wrenching! Of course, I'm a fanatic of Poe's work, so I'm promoting him a bit... but Yana Toboso does it too!
In Chapter 49, page 42, Sebastian points out to Ciel that he enjoys Arthur's story very much, and that he's read and re-read theBeeton's Christmas Annual, in which it was published, countless times without throwing it away. In the first part of the chapter, I wanted to show just how well Ciel knows the story, thus showing that Ciel holds Arthur in some... regard? At least more than the other humans around him.
The pungi, an Indian or Nepalese flute, is the instrument used by snake charmers. Know that snakes are deaf. They aren't hypnotized by the music but by the vibrations in the resonating chamber of the instrument and by the movements of the flute.
Bakhor Thany is an Indian incense or rather a very strong perfume, which can also be used as incense. It's a mixture made from frankincense resin, frankincense oil, and musk.