Music I listened to while writing : Irene Adler's Theme - OST Sherlock serie

Chapter 2 : The Tower protects the King

Arthur slightly lifted the heavy green velvet curtains and looked at the sky. The rain had stopped during the night. The storm had finally passed. However, dark, heavy, and threatening clouds loomed on the horizon, and the wind was still strong.
"The storm isn't over,"Arthur thought, pressing his forehead against the cold window.
He closed his eyes, searching for strength that the little sleep he'd gotten hadn't restored to his body. Fatigue weighed on him, and confusion made his shoulders heavy. His hands clenched on the windowpanes as he tried to fight the fear forming in his gut. He wondered if someone else had died that night...
Whatever the case, he needed to act quickly; the storm would return soon, and he had to take advantage of this moment to call for help.

He hurried to the chair where he had folded and prepared his clothes the night before, pulling on his trousers and quickly buttoning his shirt while glancing at the clock.
Almost eight o'clock.

Thank God, it was still early! Most of the guests were certainly not yet awake. Arthur feared that some might try to flee the manor if they noticed the storm's lull, and it was crucial that no one left so the killer could be unmasked.

Arthur suddenly stopped at this thought. Why did this matter so much to him now? Why did solving this mystery seem so crucial? He, too, wanted to escape from this cursed castle; after all, he was afraid too… He could flee right now… So why did he feel unable to leave?

Arthur turned to the boy who was still sleeping soundly, curled up under the heavy covers. He smiled at the sight of the sleeping figure. Slowly, he sat on the bed, careful not to wake the one who had shared his bed, and reached out to pull back the quilt that hid Ciel's face. Arthur leaned closer and stroked the boy's cheek with his fingertips. Under this touch, a strange warmth rose to his cheeks, and his head began to spin.

He moved closer and lay down next to the boy, letting his hand caress his face and hair. He didn't want to wake him, but a fever burned in his chest, and he couldn't resist.

He kissed Ciel's lips, placing tender and pleading kisses on his mouth. The Earl grimaced and let out a small sleepy moan, clearly annoyed at being woken up this way. Without opening his eyes, he lazily slapped a hand over his assailant's face and turned in bed to avoid facing him, pulling the cover over his head. Arthur started laughing, keeping his mouth closed to avoid waking him further.

But the laughter was short-lived, as a dull pressure already gripped his heart while his throat grew dry. The weight of regret gripped him as he got up from the bed and quietly left the room.

He walked down the corridor, trying to tread lightly when passing the rooms occupied by the guests, as he didn't want to wake them. He wanted to be alone to think about the murders and the strange circumstances in which they had been committed… but also to think about Ciel. What had happened the day before should never have been.

He had been captivated by that face, which barely bore the features of masculinity. The strength and determination that emanated from the boy's body were both irritating and intriguing. His straight and austere stature, measured gestures, impeccable posture, and elegant manners immediately commanded unquestionable respect, while his appearance suggested youth.
How could one not be charmed by such ambivalence? Ciel fascinated him; he fascinated everyone, really, Arthur was certain.

He suddenly stopped at the top of the grand staircase, his hand gripping the polished wood railing. He brought his hand to his face and realized sweat was beading on his forehead. If someone else had been chosen to sleep with Ciel during his confinement, would that person have taken advantage of the opportunity, as he had?
Arthur shook his head, troubled. No, he hadn't wanted this; nothing had been premeditated. He wasn't a monster. He had been seduced by this wounded young man, who still held an unsettling courage and coldness. And yesterday, he had discovered the sensual warmth that lay dormant in his icy heart. That night, he had loved him. And this desire was making him lose his sanity. Yes, his sanity was in danger.

This manor, this Earl, this mystery… he felt trapped, lost in the unknown. A manor where bodies piled up, a boy who knew no innocence, chess pieces that repaired themselves… Could he still trust his senses? He doubted it now. He realized he was trembling.

A figure caught his eye and pulled him from his thoughts. Tanaka, dignified and impeccable in his butler's uniform, was crossing the hall at the bottom of the stairs. Arthur called out to him and headed towards him, descending the stairs in large strides.

The butler greeted him with a brief nod. Arthur took a step back as he stood close to the new head butler. With his severe appearance of an overly wise old man, his too-pale, almost sickly skin, and his too-perfect attire, he looked like a corpse before the funeral.

"Sir, you have risen early; would you like your breakfast?"

Arthur snapped out of his contemplation when the butler spoke and stammered,

"No, Tanaka, I'd like to know where I can use a telephone? The weather is calm now, but it surely won't last; I think the storm will return in the afternoon, and I want to inform Scotland Yard of our situation."

Tanaka stared at the young man for a moment.

"Has the Young Master authorized this call?" he asked slowly.

Arthur stiffened, feeling a sudden shiver of frustration run down his spine; this wasn't the response he had imagined.

"No, the Earl is still asleep, but I think under the circumstances, we can do without his permission," Arthur moved closer to Tanaka and added in a cold voice, "Unless we're all prisoners here, I believe I have the right to make a phone call."

Tanaka smiled, bowed again, and replied, "Please forgive me, sir, I meant no offense. It's just that the Young Master alone makes the decisions in this manor. However, he seems to trust you. The telephone is in the Young Master's study. Please follow me."

Arthur hung up the phone and let out a long sigh of relief, placing his head in his hands. He glanced up at the clock.
8:30.
The inspector on the phone had assured him they could be there in just under two hours.
What was his name again? Amberline? Abberline? Arthur had forgotten.
Hopefully, they would bring the coroner to examine the bodies. The cellar was cold, but the dampness might cause the bodies to decay quickly. He considered checking, but the thought of going down to the cellar to inspect the state of the corpses made nausea rise in his throat.
"Not very dignified for a doctor," he thought sarcastically.

Two hours…

Why did this damn manor have to be so far from London? He thought further. Given the events of the previous day, the guests wouldn't be up before ten. He needed to make sure that none of the guests left the manor before the police arrived.
He stood up and hurried out of the office, trying to find his way to the kitchens where he expected to find the servants preparing breakfast for the guests.
He found only Bard there, motionless, sitting on a chair in front of a table where pies, presumably for lunch, were laid out. The servant had a cigarette in his hand, which he let burn without smoking, judging by the ashes that had already fallen to the floor at his feet.

His eyes were fixed on the wall in front of him. When he saw Arthur enter the room, he stood up. "Sir shouldn't be in the kitchen; this isn't a place for a guest."

Arthur didn't know what to say. "I needed to speak with you."

Bard shrugged. "You should've rung the bell."

Arthur laughed, his face still warm from having run through the castle's corridors to find the kitchen.

"Yes, of course. I'm not used to all this, ringing for servants, being waited on."

Bard snickered and sat back down. "Good, I'm not used to being rung for.

- I've called the police. Officers will be here in about two hours, and I'm afraid some people might take advantage of the break in the rain to leave. Is it possible to make sure that..

- Don't worry about that. Finni's already dismantled the wheels of the carriages that brought the guests, as the Young Master requested. Took him about five minutes per carriage. No one's leaving here, at least not in the cars they came in."

"Finni takes five minutes to dismantle a car's wheels?" Arthur exclaimed, eyes wide.

"Yeah, I know. He's not in top form right now... What happened to Sebastian threw him off a bit."
Bard took a puff of his cigarette, looking absent. Then he clapped his hands as he stood up.
"Well, I gotta heat up breakfast. Mei Rin will bring it to the dining room if that's okay with you?"

"Uh, no, I think I'll have breakfast around nine-thirty, with Earl Phantomhive."

Bard nodded and headed to the stove. Arthur left as the scent of hot coffee began to fill the room.

10:00 AM

"What did you say? The police are on their way?"
Arthur couldn't help but smile at the look of pure relief on the pretty opera singer's face. She was charming this morning, and he saw the beautiful face he had admired on the first night, not one tortured by fear and anxiety. Would she still be so relieved to know the police were coming if she had committed these murders or one of them?

Besides himself and the Earl, only Woodley, Irene, and Grimsby were awake at this hour. The dark circles under their eyes were evidence of a restless night. Had they stayed up in fear of dying?

"Shouldn't we start packing? Once the police have examined the place, we'll be able to leave," said Grimsby, standing up and abandoning a breakfast he had barely started. Irene immediately followed suit.

"I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you," the Earl interrupted, stirring his tea slowly without even looking up at his guests. "The storm will return soon, and I doubt the police will have time to inspect the entire manor before it hits. They won't stay trapped here to do so. They'll take the bodies and leave quickly. And if I were them, I'd keep all the suspects confined to one place." He brought the cup to his lips and looked at the couple before adding with a smile, "And what better prison than an isolated manor in the middle of a storm?" He took a sip and set the cup down.

Each of the guests flinched, shocked by their host's remarks as much as by his sinister yet amused tone. Grimsby took Irene's arm, who seemed on the verge of fainting, and they left the room in a huff. Woodley stood, his face red with anger that he could barely contain. Despite everything, he smiled at the Earl.

"What composure from a kid who was clinging to his butler's corpse just yesterday." He tossed his napkin on the table and left through the door where Irene and Grimsby had disappeared.

Arthur turned to Ciel, who occupied the head of the table. No reaction was visible on the boy's face as he savored his breakfast as if it were just an ordinary day. Arthur couldn't stand this coldness. It exasperated him. He had seen another side of Ciel, and he didn't want this façade of a disdainful noble anymore.

"Was that necessary?" he suddenly asked the young man, who superbly ignored him. Losing his temper, Arthur exclaimed, "What you said was simply awful. It's as if you're amused by the situation. People have died, for God's sake!"

Ciel shot him a contemptuous glance. Ah, finally, a reaction! Not to the meaning of his words or his tone, of course. What had disturbed Ciel was the familiarity with which Arthur had addressed him.

"It is rather amusing," Ciel said softly, delicately tearing a piece of his croissant with his fingers, "the confidence a person can gain after sharing someone's intimacy."

Arthur winced. The allusion provoked an unpleasant feeling of shame that materialized as a faint shiver running down his spine. He looked away, unsure how to continue the conversation, which had veered onto a topic he didn't want to discuss, especially since his own feelings and thoughts were still confused. However, he couldn't ignore Ciel's provocation. The Earl certainly knew that Arthur, like any man who had received a serious moral and religious education, couldn't be at ease after that. And there was no way the Earl could use that night to unsettle him at will.

He cleared his throat and turned fully in his chair to face the Earl, who seemed momentarily surprised that the writer hadn't left the table.

"If you want to talk about what happened…"
"No, thank you," Ciel interrupted, clenching his slender fingers around his spoon. "I'm not a woman. I don't expect anything from you. Keep your explanations, your fiery words, and your promises for someone else who'll enjoy hearing them. I'd simply prefer that it doesn't become a reason for you to forget your manners in my presence."

Arthur felt his heart begin to beat harder, and each beat seemed painful, an unbearable rhythm that pounded in his temples like a furious drum.

"And I'd prefer that you no longer use what happened as a tactic of intimidation as you just did."

Ciel sighed, tossing his spoon onto the table as a sign of frustration. He leaned back against his chair, turning his head away so he wouldn't have to look at Arthur. He seemed tired at that moment, almost fragile.

"That wasn't intimidation," Ciel said, "It was a simple attack on my part to put you back in your place."

Offended, Arthur opened his mouth, ready to interrupt him, but Ciel continued, turning abruptly toward him: "You criticized my words and my attitude. Would you have dared to do so yesterday?"

Arthur slowly closed his mouth, shaking his head slightly, and averted his gaze as if Ciel's eye on him could burn him.

"No, of course not," the boy continued, smiling sadly. "You want to criticize my detachment because you find it frightening?" He leaned toward him, as if to reveal a secret only he should hear. "Wake up. How else could I act? Before criticizing my attitude, ask yourself what I have to lose. I can't give in to panic or even pretend to like them." He made a disdainful grimace and nodded toward the door where the three guests had exited. "I don't have the luxury of weakness; my status forbids it. That's why their whining exasperates me, me, who isn't allowed to be afraid."

He gently placed his elbows on the table, intertwined his fingers, and rested his chin on them, murmuring, his eye lost in the void, "Everything happening here is more serious for me than for anyone else. I've recently done something that somewhat… disturbed the Queen."

Arthur watched as Ciel's intertwined fingers tensed and tightened nervously.

The Earl continued in a laughing voice where humor had no place:
"This evening was an opportunity to redeem myself. And here's the result: three corpses in one night. How will I explain their deaths to the Queen?"

In that single blue iris staring into the void, Arthur thought he glimpsed a pain that took his breath away. He hadn't considered any of this before. The Earl's responsibilities had never crossed his mind. He was a stranger to the demands of nobility, and now, as he glimpsed the burden the young man had to bear, he was almost glad of it. Ciel's shoulders seemed far too slight to bear the weight of his world alone.
Once again, Arthur felt the urge to take him in his arms and carry him far from this manor, far from everything. Before reason could stop him, he grasped one of Ciel's hands, encasing it in his own, and brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckles. He understood the romantic implications of this gesture, but his intention was primarily to offer comfort and support to the boy. The young earl watched him without moving, but Arthur felt him tremble.

The door suddenly opened, and Arthur immediately let go of Ciel's hand as Meirin entered the room, quickly bowing before exclaiming, "Young Master, the officers are arriving."

Three black carriages halted at the manor's main entrance. Six officers in uniform stepped out of the first. The second carriage, more worn than the others, was empty.
"It will probably be used to transport the bodies to London," Arthur thought.

The third carriage had only three occupants. Tanaka leaned towards Arthur and whispered:

"The stern-looking man at the front is the Scotland Yard Commissioner, Lord Randall. Next to him is his deputy, Detective Abberline. I must apologize, for I do not know the third man."

Arthur thanked the butler with a brief nod and observed the trio. The third man, with graying hair, whom Tanaka didn't recognize, carried a case similar to those used by surgeons.

A coroner, no doubt!

Arthur sighed in relief and approached Lord Randall, extending his hand.

"Thank you for arriving so quickly. I am Arthur Conan Doyle, the one you spoke with on the phone this morning."

"Don't thank me. Believe me, if I could have avoided coming to this Devil's den, I would have gladly done so," he grumbled, shaking Arthur's hand and casting a dark glance at Ciel, who remained in the doorway, having made no move to welcome them.
"But the victims are important subjects of the Queen, so I had to come. However, we cannot stay long; the storm might force us to remain in this hellish place if we don't hurry, and we can't leave London unmonitored. I must ask you to quickly gather all the guests so we can take their statements before we depart."

He entered the manor without greeting the Earl, who ignored him just as fervently.

Uncomfortable with his superior's rudeness, Abberline nervously shook Arthur's hand and timidly greeted the Earl, who responded with a nod.

"I am Detective Abberline; I answered your call this morning. This is Coroner Wynne Baxter, who will examine the bodies after we've taken the statements."

Arthur greeted the doctor, a man of mature age despite his gray hair.

Abberline turned to Arthur and whispered:

"Please excuse the Commissioner's rudeness; he doesn't like coming to this manor because he disapproves of the Phantomhive family's activities."

The Phantomhive family's activities? What is he talking about? Arthur was about to question him, but Abberline was already distracted, staring at Tanaka, who was speaking with Lord Randall, looking surprised. He frowned and turned to Ciel.

"Where is your butler, Earl?"

Ciel lowered his head and murmured, "Sebastian was found dead last night, Detective Abberline."

The sound of Lord Randall's laughter echoed from the entrance hall as he handed his hat and coat to Tanaka.

"Well, well, maybe this tragedy has some good in it after all. We will wait for you in the drawing room, Earl."

An outraged expression crossed Detective Abberline's face, and in a protective gesture, he turned to Ciel, a move that stirred an unpleasant feeling in Arthur's stomach.

"We will find the culprit, Earl Phantomhive," the detective said gently.

Ciel nodded and entered the manor, followed by Arthur and Baxter. Abberline motioned for the officers to follow, and the manor door closed behind them.

Lord Randall removed his glasses and placed them on the table, where the manor's occupants had gathered. He sank back into his chair, visibly disturbed. The room fell silent, waiting for his observations.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you all for your cooperation. We now have all your statements, and we will review them all."

He took a deep breath, wiped the sweat tickling his mustache, and fixed his gaze on those before him.

"But at this time, I cannot say who is guilty and who is not. The storm is approaching, and we cannot linger far from the capital. I must ask you all to stay in the manor."

Exclamations immediately arose from those seated at the table. The Commissioner stood and raised his hands, asking for calm.

"Please, let me continue! Your testimonies are only reliable if the other guests corroborate your words; you are therefore dependent on each other to prove your innocence. If one of you disappears or decides to flee, it will be even more difficult to clarify this matter."

"I don't care about being locked up, Commissioner, but I won't stay in this manor. Lock me up in one of your cells; at least I'll be sure I won't be killed!" exclaimed Woodley, panicked.

"The law forbids us from imprisoning someone against whom we have no direct charges. We could lodge you in a hotel and have it secured, but we need the Justice Minister's approval to incur such expenses. And we cannot obtain that approval today. I must ask you to stay here one more night."

"One night only if the storm allows," Charles asked, irritated.

"If it reassures you, Detective Abberline will stay the night, along with one of the officers if one of them volunteers."

Abberline started at this announcement and turned to his superior, who gave him a look he knew well: "Would you dare disobey an order?"

Sheepish, he looked away and lowered his head.

"Well, that being understood, we must now examine the bodies. Miss, please," said the Commissioner, pointing to Mei rin, who started. "Please take Dr. Baxter to the cellar. Mr. Conan Doyle, in your capacity as a doctor and since you are the only occupant of this manor who could not have committed any murder, I would like to speak with you. You too, Earl Phantomhive. As for the rest of you, Ladies and Gentlemen, I ask you to remain calm and not to panic. If the killer is among you, we will find them."

"So, we have three corpses," said Lord Randall. "I will wait for the coroner's confirmation regarding the time of death, but if the time on the broken clock you found is correct, then the butler died last. And from what you've told me, he was the prime suspect in young Phelps' murder," the Commissioner said, scratching his chin.

"That seems to be the case, Commissioner," said Arthur, leaning forward, arms resting on his thighs and hands clasped, in a reflective posture as he tried to recall the events. "Only Sebastian had the key to open the Earl's room, and the door was locked when we arrived, and we had to break it down to enter. However, we cannot say who killed him. Judging by the wounds, it seems two killers participated in this murder. And as for Lord Siemens..."

Arthur hesitated and bit his lip before continuing, "Only the Earl could have committed the murder because he has no alibi. But afterward, he was locked in one of the rooms under my watch, so he cannot be the killer of Phelps or his own butler. My theory is that we are dealing with multiple killers who act together or separately, depending on the murders..."

The Commissioner shot a cold glance at the young boy.

"What a shame... If you hadn't been confined, young Earl Phantomhive," he said, his eyes gleaming, "I would have brought you down, and not even Her Majesty the Queen could have saved you."

Arthur stood up, outraged by Lord Randall's hateful accusations. "Ciel could not have committed these murders! I have explained this! And no grievance justifies such relentless persecution on your part."
"Ciel?" the inspector repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Arthur blushed at his mistake but did not lower his gaze. The Commissioner turned to the boy, who had not reacted to the exchange between the two men. In truth, he had said nothing, nor had he done anything to help or hinder the officers' investigations.

His detachment was unsettling as if he were watching a scene from a boring play that had nothing to do with him. Lord Randall looked the Earl up and down with a look of disgust on his face and then turned to Arthur.

"You don't know what this boy is capable of, Mr. Conan Doyle. And I advise you, for your own good, not to underestimate him."

Suddenly, cries echoed from the great hall, and everyone stood as one and rushed toward the source of the noise.

"He's alive! He's alive!" Mei rin repeated, rushing toward them.

"Who is alive, Mei rin?" Arthur exclaimed.

"Sebastian!"

Ciel suddenly paled, and an expression of fear crossed his face. He backed away as Mei rin prepared to embrace him, mad with joy. But he placed two trembling hands on her shoulders to prevent her from hugging him. His chest heaved rapidly with the rhythm of his heart, which was beating so hard it hurt.

The coroner, his apron stained with blood, strode towards them, panting: "His heartbeat is very weak, he has lost a lot of blood, but he is still breathing. We must get him to a hospital urgently, though there is little chance he will survive the journey."

Abberline rushed to the cellar, shouting at the officers to grab stretchers and asking Tanaka to prepare the carriage for departure. Arthur remained silent, his feet seemingly rooted to the ground. He turned toward Ciel and saw him disappear into the drawing room they had just left, carefully closing the door behind him.

Disturbed, he hurried towards the coroner, who was about to return to the cellar, and grabbed his arm to stop him and make him face him. His head was spinning, and he felt nauseous, not least because of the smell of stale blood staining the coroner's clothes, which was almost unbearable.

"Doctor," he said in a trembling voice, "I am a doctor myself, and I examined the body. I assure you that yesterday he was dead. He had lost a lot of blood, his eyes were glazed, his heart had stopped beating..." He paused, his throat dry, losing the thread of his thoughts.
Stress and doubt overwhelmed him. He let go of the doctor's arm and buried his head in his hands. He felt hysteria taking control of his nerves.

"As I said," the coroner replied gently and measuredly, "he likely won't survive the journey; he's very damaged..."

"It's not about that!" Arthur exclaimed, raising his hands to the heavens, exasperated. He took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He ran a firm hand over his face, attempting to clear his mind, and continued, "He has an extremely deep head wound, and we found him with a poker embedded in his chest..."

"Did you try to resuscitate him?"

"For what purpose? His heart had stopped... but his master gave him two or three slaps that could have woken the dead," he added with a joyless, almost mad smile. Yet he pulled himself together. "Honestly, Doctor, who could survive such injuries?"

"Perhaps we must believe in miracles," the medical examiner shrugged.

Arthur let out a nervous laugh. "I am a man of science, Doctor, and an agnostic above all. And from a scientific point of view..."

"From a scientific point of view, we are only just beginning to understand what death truly is, Mr. Conan Doyle. How many people declared dead have been buried alive? How many coffins were discovered with the inside of the lid scratched by the nails of the unfortunate souls suffocating in their graves? Some things elude us. This man is alive, he was lucky. Some of us are tougher against death. Believe me, I've seen strange and incredible cases. And we might be witnessing what is called a medical miracle. But for now, I need you to let me examine the other bodies, and I have little time to do so. I won't be able to observe them objectively if I don't assess the place where they were found. It's essential for evaluating the time of death. Rest, Mr. Conan Doyle, your nerves are being severely tested in this grim affair. You'll lose your mind if you don't allow yourself some peace."

Arthur swallowed with difficulty and nodded, letting the doctor leave. He felt exhausted; he wanted to lie down and sleep, sleep for weeks in his own bed, to feel the comfort of his home again, to be with... his wife.

My God, his wife Louisa! Not once during these two days had he thought of his wife. He remembered the relief he felt when he received the invitation from the Phantomhive house. Despite the mystery surrounding the sudden request, he had been happy to make the journey to the manor, happy to be away from her, his wife, whom he could no longer bear to see suffering as tuberculosis ravaged her lungs. He had thought he loved that girl from his childhood, but he realized that this love was merely pity for a young woman condemned.

As sadness gripped his heart as strongly as fatigue, Arthur decided to return to the drawing room to enjoy the comfort of one of the armchairs and to ask for a strong cup of coffee, even though lunch would be served soon. As he entered the elegant room, he saw Ciel staring out the window, motionless. Arthur approached, curious to see what the Earl was watching so intently. He stopped beside him without touching him and followed his gaze.
The window overlooked the front of the manor, and they could see the three carriages. Officers were carrying Sebastian, whose body was covered with a light blanket. Ciel watched the strange procession with emotionless eyes.

This apathy quickly made Arthur uncomfortable.

"Aren't you going to see him?" he asked.

No response.

"With his injuries," he insisted, "there's little chance he'll survive. You should perhaps go see him or talk to him."
"There's no need."

Ciel smiled wearily. His voice was empty and weak.

"You don't seem happy that he's alive..."

"Let's just say I should be more careful about what I wish for, that's all," the young man murmured, so softly that Arthur could barely make out the words.

"He should be dead, Ciel..."

"But he isn't," sighed the Earl, who left the window and walked toward one of the armchairs.

"You knew!"

Arthur could no longer bear this facade of calm and detachment. Something was wrong, and he wanted—he needed—to know.

"What are you talking about?" Ciel asked wearily. He turned to Arthur, one hand on the back of the armchair he had intended to sit in a moment earlier.

"You knew he wasn't dead," Arthur spat, pointing an accusing finger at the boy. "You knew, or at least you suspected."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Ciel, folding his arms, "I was shocked and overreacted."

"I'm not talking about the moment we discovered Sebastian's body. I'm talking about what you said in the bedroom last night."

Ciel tried to interrupt, but Arthur pressed on:

"You didn't believe he was dead; you thought he was pretending, playing a game, toying with you. At that moment, I thought you were delirious, that it was your pain speaking more than your mind. But he's alive! But now... now I don't know anymore. I remember every word you said, and listening to you, it seemed impossible that he was dead!"

"I told you, I was shocked!" Ciel exclaimed, visibly exasperated. "Our words and actions lose all meaning in such situations; what happened between us yesterday proves that, doesn't it?"

Oh, how Arthur would have loved to slap this insolent boy for playing with his heart and mind like this!

But he did nothing, merely biting his lower lip, glancing wildly around the room, his breathing ragged.

"What is going on here?" he suddenly asked.

"What do you mean? Are you losing your mind? If your memory fails you, know that we have three murders on our hands, a killer among us... and a writer whose nerves seem to be failing!"

"No!" Arthur shook his finger. "What's really going on here? A series of murders, multiple killers, but no real suspect... but also a chess piece that you break, and it repairs itself... and now a man with a hole in his head and chest who doesn't die after spending hours rotting in a cellar?"

"The medical examiner told you, these things happen..."

"Stop mocking me!" Arthur was furious now.

He approached Ciel, seized his shoulders, and squeezed. He suspected he was hurting him, but he didn't care.

"There is something rotten in this manor, something deeply dark, strange, and unhealthy. And you know something, Ciel!"

The boy planted both fists on his chest and pushed him away violently.

"It's Earl Phantomhivefor you! Don't forget your place!"

"It suited you for me to forget it last night!"

Arthur didn't see the slap coming, but he felt the pain and the burning imprint of Ciel's hand on his cheek. He looked at the boy standing before him, eyes dark and breathing labored.

"Pull yourself together!" the Earl said sharply. "There is nothing supernatural in this matter, but our situation is frightening, and it's getting the better of you. So, you're letting yourself be disturbed by details that quickly become troubling. But I need an intelligent man who can solve this case rationally. If you're not capable, it's better to let Abberline handle the matter alone."

Arthur let out a weak groan and clenched his fists. The door suddenly opened, and Tanaka entered the room. "Sir, should I serve lunch?"

Ciel was about to answer, but Arthur cut him off:
"Serve lunch to the guests, except for myself and the Earl; we will dine with Detective Abberline after the police have left. Don't forget to prepare takeout for the commissioner, the coroner, and the officers, who might return to London after lunch. It's only right to prepare something to satisfy them, given the journey they've had to make today."

Tanaka glanced at his young master, who simply stared at Arthur. The butler eventually bowed and left the room.

Ciel and Arthur stared at each other for a moment, then Arthur stepped back and bowed to the Earl, who froze, astonished.

"If you'll allow me, Earl Phantomhive, I will take my leave," Arthur said. "I would like to discuss the matter with Detective Abberline. The sooner we solve this mystery, the sooner the guests and I can leave this manor."

Not waiting for a response, he straightened up and headed for the door, declaring as he did so: "I suggest you entertain your guests so they don't get in the way of the inspectors. Perhaps a game of billiards? Or a game of chess? Though I find your way of playing a bit too casual for my taste."

With that, he opened the door and walked out.

"Poison? Are you sure, doctor?"

"Indeed, come closer, Mr. Conan Doyle. As you suspected, the weapon that was thrust into Mr. Phelps' neck, creating those two marks, was coated with poison, which explains the somewhat purplish color of the skin at that spot," said Baxter, turning the head of the unfortunate Phelps, whose face had already taken on an olive hue.

"Poisoned needles then?" asked Detective Abberline.
"Yes, or something else. The parallel nature of the punctures also suggests a bite."

"A vampire bite, Doctor?" the detective mocked.
"Of course not, although my experience with strange cases does sometimes lead me to entertain such fanciful hypotheses. But here, I would lean more toward a snake bite... To know for sure, I would need to analyze the poison or venom, but it might have already disappeared from his body by now. Some poisons are eliminated by the body, even after death, making them difficult to identify..."
"Doctor, do you think a deadly snake is loose in the castle?" asked Arthur, uneasy at the thought of a reptile slithering into his room.

Baxter laughed, glancing at the two men.
"I certainly hope not. Otherwise, you'll have to inform the occupants of the manor that there are not only murderers among them but also a venomous snake. But snakes rarely approach large houses like this one. They're frightened by vibrations, after all. If there's a snake in the castle, it didn't come alone; someone brought it in."

Arthur sighed, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He couldn't imagine any of the guests or servants bringing a snake into the castle.

"I must be going," said the coroner, putting away his knives and forceps into his surgeon's bag. "We'd like to reach London before the storm. Regarding Lord Siemens, I've left my observations with his documents. The time you indicated, 1:10 a.m., aligns with the current state of the body," he said, handing Arthur several sheets. "I don't have much more to add about Phelps, except that based on the livor mortis and the body stiffness, death occurred between 2:00 and 5:00 a.m. So, you can rely on the clock that showed 2:40 a.m."

"Doctor," Abberline interrupted, "what do you think of the injuries on his hands?"

"They're insignificant, Detective Abberline."

"How could they be insignificant? They might be defensive wounds, which would mean a snake attack..."

He trailed off as Baxter burst out laughing.
"Explain it to him, Mr. Conan Doyle," said the coroner, gesturing for the officers to take the bodies away before heading up the stairs.

Arthur approached the detective.

"They're not defensive wounds; they're rat bites from when the rodents began gnawing on him after he was placed in the cellar."
Abberline paled, stammering:

"Oh… uh… charming."
"Elementary, my dear Abberline," said Arthur, placing a hand on his shoulder as they left the cellar.

The storm rumbled again, threatening to shatter the windows under the pressure of the wind and rain. Abberline and Arthur were seated opposite each other in armchairs, a glass of scotch beside them, in front of a small coffee table covered with various documents, copies of depositions, observations from the coroner, and more.
After lunch, they had decided to spend the rest of the afternoon together to discuss the case.
Arthur felt at ease in Abberline's presence, who was not only intelligent but also possessed a strong sense of integrity and values that reminded Arthur of his own, unlike most of the people currently occupying the estate.

"They must have reached London by now," said Abberline, looking out the window. "At least, I hope they weren't caught by the storm on the road. Otherwise, they'll have little chance of reaching the Royal London Hospital before the butler dies. It's crucial that he survives; he may have seen his attackers, which could help us make progress..."
Abberline slapped the armrest of his chair, deeply frustrated. "This case is a complete mystery—nothing adds up, no reasoning holds together!"

"What troubles me most, Detective Abberline," sighed Arthur, raising his glass to his lips, "is the lack of a motive. I can't understand the reasons behind these murders. The three—well, I mean, the two victims and Sebastian—had no connection to each other. The guests didn't know each other before the banquet, except by reputation. Georg Von Siemens was the honorary director of the Bamberger Bank. And Patrick Phelps was in charge of shipbuilding and maritime trade for the Blue Star Line company and also a senior supervisor in the trade division. The only link between them was revealed in a discussion I overheard about loans that Lord Siemens wanted to grant through German banks to his country's heavy industry to compete with England. So, they were competitors in the same market."

"Very pretentious of him..." said Abberline, sweeping aside various documents on the table, as if hoping an overlooked clue might suddenly appear from simply re-reading the police notes.

"He was indeed a pretentious man," Arthur recalled, "not to mention ill-mannered and rude when alcohol passed his lips."
"Did he say anything offensive that could have upset someone?"
"Harsh words to the guests, inappropriate behavior towards the women… But nothing that could justify murder. Nothing justifies these murders."

Arthur remembered an anecdote and began to laugh.

"I was so out of ideas that I even imagined Sebastian and the maid had plotted to murder Lord Siemens to frame the Earl and then run off to get married."

"That story is still plausible, at least for the first murder," said Abberline, intrigued. "They were the first on the scene, weren't they?"

Arthur poured himself another glass and shook his head.

"No, it doesn't fit. They couldn't have committed the murder and then closed the door from the inside before we arrived, even using the needle-and-thread trick that the Earl suggested. In fact, no one could have—not that quickly. And I gently questioned the servants about a possible relationship between the butler and the maid. The idea amused them greatly. According to them, Sebastian lives only for his young Master."

"Yes, I think so too," said Abberline, suddenly lost in thought, as if recalling certain events. "I've seen them together before… Now that I think about it, I've never seen them apart until today. That's why I was surprised not to see Sebastian by the Earl's side. Their relationship is rather… I'd say 'close,' for lack of a better word. That man can sometimes display incredible abilities… But I suppose the Earl can only surround himself with exceptional people for his task as the 'Queen's Watchdog.'"

"'Watchdog'?" repeated Arthur, intrigued. "Woodley used that term yesterday when talking about the Earl Phantomhive, but I confess I didn't understand what he meant."

"You don't know much about Ciel Phantomhive, do you?" said the detective, still bent over his papers.
"No, not really," Arthur admitted. Though he refrained from adding that what little he did know was best left unspoken…

Abberline slowly straightened up and glanced towards the parlor doors, making sure they wouldn't be overheard. He moved from his chair facing Arthur to the settee on Arthur's left, closing the distance between them. He leaned in toward the writer and began speaking in a measured tone.

"I'd ask you to keep this discreet because I don't think I'm allowed to discuss it freely, and besides, I only know what the commissioner recently revealed to me. Apparently, the Phantomhive family is a secret society under the Queen's orders, controlling the kingdom's underworld, whether it's drug trafficking, smuggling, prostitution, or any other illegal activities that could destabilize the country, much like the police would. However, the Phantomhive family members are authorized to use illegal, and sometimes even malevolent and cruel, methods as they see fit. The Queen compensates them through bribes paid to the Earl by the police. That's why they're called the 'Queen's Watchdogs' or the 'Evil Nobles.'"

Arthur leaned back in his seat, staring at Abberline.

"Ciel Phantomhive is the sole representative of that family today," he said. "You're telling me that a boy that young controls the entire London underworld by himself?"
"A boy?" repeated Abberline, raising an eyebrow. He smiled sadly and continued, "I also tend to look at him with indulgence, but you must admit he has a rather sharp tongue for someone with such a sweet face. And when his eye fixes on you, it inspires an inexplicable fear because you know you're caught. Those are eyes without innocence that gaze at you. His intelligence, his maturity, that darkness in his eyes… all of it betrays an age far beyond what his body suggests."

"I won't argue with you on that point," Arthur said, draining his glass in one go and grimacing as the liquid burned his throat.
He was relieved by this conversation, which gave him endless excuses to justify his behavior toward Ciel and not feel guilty about the somewhat unhealthy feelings he harbored for the young man.
Abberline suddenly picked up a sheet of paper from the table and glanced at it. Arthur knew it was the list of people present in the manor.

"Who do you think created the list and sent out the invitations, Arthur?"

"I have no idea, probably the Earl and his butler."

"We should find out how the guests were selected. It might give us new leads because, to be honest, I'm completely baffled by this case."

"Like all of us…"

Arthur had isolated himself in his room, trying with difficulty to relieve the headache that threatened to explode his skull. The rest of the guests were still gathered in the great hall, so he didn't have to worry about a killer coming for him... He was exhausted and lay down on the bed fully clothed, one arm over his face. He didn't hear the door open.

"So, there's a venomous snake in the castle."

Arthur started and sat up with a jolt. He saw Ciel standing in the doorway, looking at him with a playful, almost mocking expression.

"But how…?" Arthur began.

"It's Ran Mao," Ciel explained as he entered the room, "who overheard one officer telling another that the coroner had told Abberline and you that a snake killed Phelps."

The young man sat on the bed next to Arthur, continuing his tirade. "Which she quickly relayed to Lau, who then told… well, everyone actually. Abberline is trying to calm the guests, who are rather agitated. I slipped away during the argument."

Arthur hesitated for a moment, considering joining the officer to help manage the situation, but he decided, with selfish indulgence, that he deserved the peace he was currently granting himself.

"This is exactly what we wanted to avoid," Arthur said, resting his head back on the pillow. He rubbed his forehead vigorously, "especially since it's an unverified hypothesis. Of course, just in case, you might want to avoid sleeping in your room tonight. Though I doubt you had any intention of doing so."

His voice grew weak as he began to drift off. Yet he felt soft, cold fingers touch his eyelids, sending shivers of pleasure through his aching head. The fingers brushed over his cheeks and lingered on his lips before trailing down his chest, maintaining a feather-light touch as they continued down his stomach and lower and…

Still lying down, Arthur opened his eyes and grabbed the boy's hand, squeezing the fingers without hurting him.

"This won't happen again, Ciel," he declared, without letting go of the young man's hand. "Never again."

The Earl studied the young man without trying to free his fingers from the grip.

"If you say so," he finally replied, "I would have liked to have a say in the matter, though."

He stared at the young writer with an intense, challenging gaze before sharply pulling his fingers free from Arthur's grasp.

"You still see me as a child," he added, shaking his head slightly. "But yesterday, we were equals. We were two, and I enjoyed it as much as you did. Stop feeling guilty; it offends me. If you think you have the strength to force me into anything, that's pure arrogance on your part."

"Yes…" Arthur sighed wearily. "I'm beginning to think I can't win with you. You look like an angel, but you're a real demon."

Ciel laughed, a soft, melodic sound.

"Who knows? Maybe you've figured me out?" he said, giving Arthur a disarming smile.

Arthur felt his resolve weaken as he gazed into the deep blue eye fixed on him. Ciel's smile slowly faded, replaced by an intense and… dangerous expression.

"I'd like you to leave now."

"No," Ciel replied, leaning closer to the man lying beside him.

Arthur stopped breathing and placed his hands on the young man's shoulders, but he didn't have the strength or will to push him away.

"Stop, Ciel," he murmured, "it's… it's wrong."

"Yes, I know," Ciel whispered before kissing the man, who was already tightening his arms around his trembling body.

Royal London Hospital, 8:00 PM

The nurse was carrying a basin of hot water, towels, and bandages that she had been asked to bring to room 17B, where a patient with multiple head and chest injuries was being treated. The surgeons had done their best, but the man was so mortally wounded that he likely wouldn't survive the night. However, she had been ordered to clean the wounds and change the dressings every two hours to prevent infections.

She arrived at the room and pushed the swinging door open with her elbow. She entered the room and then froze, dropping the basin of water and towels to the floor.

In front of her was a handsome man with black hair and copper-colored eyes, looking perfectly healthy, sitting on the bed where a dying man should have been spending his final hours. Impeccably dressed in a black tailcoat, the young man sat upright, his hands resting on the bed on either side of his thighs, his legs crossed in a relaxed, nonchalant posture, a broad smile on his lips.

Observing the young woman, he tilted his head slightly, visibly amused, and with the grace of a dancer, he rose from the bed, his body seemingly weightless. He stepped forward, the water on the floor splashing with each of his steps as he approached the young woman. She stared at him as if he were a ghost, her eyes wide, her muscles tense. He stopped a few inches from the nurse, who forgot to breathe, and gently took her hand.

He placed a kiss on it in the manner of a gentleman and said in a charming voice:

"Thank you for the care you have given me, milady. I'm feeling much better, and I must leave. I'm afraid my Young Master might lose his way in my absence."

She remained motionless, frozen as he passed her and left the room.

He walked down the dark corridor and disappeared into the shadows.

Outside, the thunder rumbled.

End of Chapter 2

Here it is! Yes, I know it was probably long to read, and I apologize for that. The next chapters will be shorter (that's a lie...) so I'll be posting them more quickly!

Sebastian didn't appear much, but he'll be very present in the upcoming chapters. I needed to find a way to bring him back!

Please don't hesitate to tell me what you think! REVIEW please! It was a struggle!

Notes:
Arthur Conan Doyle really did have a wife named Louisa Hawkins. He married her at 23, and given the timeline of this story, he should be 28 and has been married for four years. (Yes, I did some research to add a touch of realism).
Fred Abberline was a detective who investigated Jack the Ripper, and he's portrayed by Johnny Depp in From Hell. That's how I picture him in this story.
In the 19th century, forensic doctors in the UK were called coroners, a term still in use today. Vynne Baxter, the coroner in my story, was one of the main coroners who examined the bodies of the prostitutes murdered by Jack the Ripper.