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The Devil's Smile	By : Kinnikuman Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 1969 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Neither author owns or holds rights to the works of "Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji)". We do not make a profit from this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Eight

By Hatter

Sometimes it wasn’t easy being the only guy in the dispatch department deemed capable of working with Grell Sutcliff. At times he wondered if it was going to hurt his career or not in the long run, especially as his missions with Grell Sutcliff tended to be the ones that went a little… well, wrong. Sempai was one of those eccentric types; if you asked around the office, Sutcliff-sempai was either a wacky genius or a complete freak. When Ronald first got promoted to dispatch, he had been led through the office by Mister Spears, who was busily explaining the ins and outs of their routine, in that serious monotone of his, when they passed a desk littered with files and paperwork and a bottle of open red nail vanish dangerously close to tipping and smearing the entire desk in brilliant red.

‘And that is the desk of department disgrace, Grell Sutcliff,’ Mister Spears said with a touch of irritation in his voice. He reached out and took the nail varnish, placing it on the table with some force. ‘This is your example, Ronald Knox. Make sure I never find your desk in such a state.’

Those were wise words from their wise manager. Ronald got along with Mister Spears, he was a stiff, but he was brilliant. He was a company legend, like Sutcliff-sempai but for completely different reasons. A lot of the guys who’d joined up with Ronald said how lucky he was, mixing it up with dispatch giants like William T. Spears and Grell Sutcliff. Molly, who he took dancing every now and then, whispered in his ear that he’d be up and coming for a promotion the way he was going. Assistant manager had been mentioned more than once, Mister Spears had never employed one before. Mr Hanks, one of the higher ups said that Ronald was the young up and coming of the department.

He had to admit, the first time he was introduced to Grell Sutcliff, he’d been a little scared. Plenty of people took him for a woman from a distance, especially if you weren’t wearing glasses, but sempai’s dress code was well known in the department. He was infamous. Grell Sutcliff had glanced over at Ronald, irritated when he saw this would be the person he was working with.

‘Oh gross, what are they thinking, pairing me with a little boy like you. I need a real man who can milk me for all I’m worth. If you hold me back, there’ll be trouble, kid.’

Sempai was so decisive, so self-contained, he did whatever mad thing he wanted. Ronald remembered how he had wanted to impress him. For all his airs and graces, fancy footwork and frankly, crazy advice, Grell Sutcliff was one hell of a reaper and something of a legend already. Although he respected him, Ronald was slightly in awe that this person was his… for lack of a better word, friend. He was Grell’s only friend in the department; they’d make poses at each other from their opposite desks, pass notes, get up to school style mischief and get scolded by Mister Spears for all of it.

They had some successful missions together, and some which went terribly. Like what happened out on the high seas with the Undertaker. Mister Spears had to fish them out of zombie encrusted waters. The mission had also, gone rather badly yesterday.

Sempai had vanished while they were meant to be on look out. After about an hour, when their target didn’t show any signs of waking up, Ronald decided it would probably be best to go and find his senior before things got serious. He’d been feeling particularly nervous about observing the target on the night ahead; Samuel Carter’s death date wasn’t too late, but Ronald had no idea when prostituting hours began, he didn’t want to see some poor kid like that being buggered by some dirty old man.

A reaper was impassive to the deaths of humans and most aspects of human life. But there was something about that little room with all those shattered little lives inside it that made Ronald’s heart ache. He had wanted to collect the soul, investigate the probable demon and be well on his way.

After searching for a while he had been half way to the Undertaker’s, just in case his senior had been crazy enough to go back to the deserter’s love nest, when he caught sight of the red headed man, wandering the streets. Sempai seemed to have visited a flower seller, as he was wearing a crown of red blossoms in his hair. He then scolded Ronald on abandoning his post, whilst being strangely pleased to see him.

Sempai had mentioned, on the way back, that he had a fantastic idea that he would share after they caught and painted the demon red tonight. Sadly that never happened, they had lost Carter on his way back to his room-mates; he had gone a different way. The reapers had split up trying to find him and got there in time to find Carter’s corpse in an alleyway. The street stank of a demon. It was unnerving.

Mister Spears was not happy when they turned up with no new information, but then sempai came out with a real pearl of wisdom.

‘It seems crazy that we haven’t done the simplest thing, Will!’ he waved his finger disapprovingly, ‘To think, little old me would have such an inspired thought…’ he glanced up and saw Mr Spear’s irritated face and rather hurriedly got to the point, ‘Someone should go through the cinematic records in the library and find out how the victims are connected. If it’s a demon killing off certain people and leaving the souls intact, they are obviously under orders – just like my poor Sebas-chan. We find out how they connect and we know who is responsible!’

‘That’s ridiculous, Grell Sutcliff,’ Mister Spears said, before he trailed off, the reality of the idea coming down on him, he bit his bottom lip, clearly irritated, ‘It would take a long time. But I can see the benefit in such an action in terms of this case. Alright, Grell Sutcliff and Ronald-’

‘Erm, no, Will, not this time,’ Grell smirked, ‘A lady like me shouldn’t have to spend ages boring over text books like an old maid librarian. I rather think as it is my stroke of genius, I shouldn’t have to do the overtime,’ his smile was challenging, ‘You did say I wouldn’t get overtime if I could contribute anything meaningful to the department and I’d say I just did, hmm?’

Mister Spears’ eyebrow twitched and then he sighed, closing the book he was holding, ‘I believe I did say that. Very well, you will have the afternoon off, Grell. Ronald Knox, you will go through the cinematic records in the library. I will find someone available to assist you. Alright, you are both dismissed.’

Cheryl had said he ‘obviously wasn’t serious’ about her when he slumped over to communications to tell her he wouldn’t be able to take her for coffee. She had also stamped on his foot and called him a bastard. Margie from personal said he was a ‘poor dear’ and let him walk her to her office on the bottom floor; so he didn’t feel too bad about letting Cheryl down. Ronald stopped off at the store to buy snacks and coffee, because he’d be in the library for a while, that much was clear. He called the office to ask who would be joining him and Mister Spears snapped that the department was very busy and he (Ronald) shouldn’t waste time waiting for it to ‘un-busy’ itself. Apparently Eric was in the human world on his day off and communications were having a near impossible time placing him. Alan had been roped into helping Grell clear his desk – their desks were close together and Grell’s piles of files had started falling and knocking his things around. In fact they had returned to the department to find Alan attempting to clear Grell’s desk for him, whilst trying very hard not to get into a temper about it.

Sempai was enjoying his time off being snapped at by Alan as they sorted through lots of pieces of paper. At least Ronald’s overtime came in depressing movie form. He caught the bus to the library, half dreading the long day ahead and half excited because it had been so long since he ventured out here. The shinigami library was famous, during his training days he used to sneak out here with a girl under the pretext of ‘studying’. He smirked fondly at the memory as he gathered the various books and pieces he’d need; all the victims, all forty-seven of the victims… he was going to be here all day and all night.

Mr Harold Wellington, age 39, Edinburgh

Mr Seamus Keen, age 52, Southampton

Mrs Fiona Malcolm, age 25, North London

Mr Edgar Edgecombe, age 28, Cornwall

Mrs Lisa Edgecombe, age 24, Cornwall

Mr Robert Maxwell, age 28, Cardiff

Miss Samantha Jenson, age 37, New Forest

Mr Jack O’Leary, age 44, Manchester

Ms Anne Greenway, age 30, Margate

Mr Thomas Redding, age 60, Ludlow

Harry Pippin, age 13, Gloucester

Ronald’s head ached; he was sat on one of the plush red sofas, stretched out and irritated, eating popcorn. All these people had in common so far was the fact they spent most of the last three years on the road. But then he came across something unusual, in the records of the boy, Harry Pippin. A year on the road, and then the last two years of his life were spent as the entertainer to a little society girl, dancing for her, doing magic tricks. He had been killed by a smaller figure than the one that featured in the other last moments. Whilst most of the victims were struck from the back, Pippin had dropped to the ground in fright when he felt something sharp against his skin. He had kicked at the shadowed attacker, fighting with all his might. The last thing he ever saw was a lock of purple hair as his attacker pinned him to the cobbled ground.

That was unusual…

As Ronald rewound the records from Pippin’s life, he came across something dark and disturbing.

Harry Pippin gazed up at the kind faced woman who came to the orphanage, dressed like a proper lady. She crouched down where he was sat with his friends and gave them a bag of sweets to share.

“Would you like to have sweets every day?” she asked, “All little boys like sweets, don’t they?”

“I do,” he said happily, enjoying the rich sugar as he crunched on one.

“If you came to live with at Trancy manor, you could have all the sweets you want and lots of other tasty things.”

He was on a carriage with lots of other boys, excitedly whispering about their new life at the Trancy estate. Ronald watched as their dreams turned to dust, watched Harry Pippin and so many others locked in an underground cell. He saw the boy sat on a bed, holding a cup of sweetened wine, frightened and staring up at a huge, much older man, who was stroking his hair gently, his eyes gentle, urging him to drink.

After that there was only pain.

Ronald switched it off, putting the record of Harry Pippin back, it made him feel sick. He got a sinking feeling he’d be seeing more like that. The records of Owen McCarthy, Freddie Smith and Billy Drake all confirmed the same. The adult records of Mathew Sharkey and so many others confirmed that they had been servants at the manor. Sempai had been right, Ronald had found the link.

The link was this Trancy manor.

He had been about to call Mister Spears when the man himself appeared at the end of the corridor. He looked like he’d rushed here and was smoothing down his hair as he approached, “Ronald Knox, what on earth are you doing?”

Ronald suddenly remembered the pile of snacks on the sofa, “Oh, I bought some food for thought.”

“Snacks are forbidden in the library, Ronald Knox.”

“Yeah, I… erm, forgot. You… wouldn’t want some popcorn, would…?”

“Certainly not,” he pushed up his glasses, “I notice you have your communication device out, to contact the office perhaps?”

“Yeah,” he remembered himself, “I found the link between the cases, Mister Spears. The adults were servants at this place, Trancy manor and the young boys were kept there by the Master. Most of the ones I observed were gathered by this lady, Ms Anne Greenway,” he held up the book of her life, “She was taken in as an orphan by Earl Trancy, and became a kind of scout for him to find him lovers. Hers was the body that got dumped in the ocean. It took Eric and Alan ages to find and extract her soul.”

“I remember that,” Mister Spears frowned, deep in thought, “Well done, Ronald Knox. Alright, our next step is to find the records of this Earl Trancy and those directly related to him. There are many Trancy records in Area F, I will go and fetch them here. Have this mess cleared up by the time I return.”

‘Well done, Ronald’, well, that was the best compliment Mister Spears gave, so it was best to accept it gracefully and get on with his work. It wasn’t like this was a massive stone’s throw in terms of solving the case. Sempai would take the credit for it; he said Ronald was more of a button pusher. He shoved the snacks into a plastic bag, which he put in his backpack and went about tidying up the records he had taken out.

Mister Spears was as reliable as ever, reappearing moments later with an impressive stack of books. “There are a couple missing,” he said dismissively, “I have sent Grell Sutcliff to find them.”

“I knew he’d get some overtime after all,” Ronald chuckled.

“Yes, Alan Humphries kept him very occupied with that monstrous desk of his. Though I doubt he will learn anything from it,” he sighed heavily. “Alright, these are the records of Earl Charles Trancy, Countess Arabella Trancy and their son Alois Trancy. Let us see what we can find in relation to demons.”

The Countess Trancy’s records were simple enough at first, the same as any young noblewoman. She grew up playing the piano, dancing at balls, being measured for pretty dresses and having lots of dolls. She had once loved a young man who worked in her father’s household and thought to tell him so but never had the courage. Her father introduced her to Earl Trancy, who had seen her at various balls and took a shine to her. He was twenty-three years her senior, tall with fading blonde hair, he had been handsome once but he had aged badly. Jane would be the third Countess Trancy and the last. The Earl gave her romance, the way a lord would his lady. Her father was thrilled with the marriage, the Queen’s Spider, such a wonderful household name for his fourteen year old daughter. The marriage had been a happy one at first. Her husband had liked his wife innocent, delighted in her naïve nature and sweet tastes. He would call her his ‘little doll’ and buy her decorated dresses and nightgowns. Though he had a fierce temper and would drink often. She was pregnant with his child when she found his secret passion for other men. Only it wasn’t just other men, it was young men, boys. The stable boy was a year younger than her and had startled, terrified eyes when she entered the drawing room to see her beloved husband taking him roughly from behind, like an animal.

“I want to go and stay with my parents… for just a little while,” she said, peering up at her husband anxiously, fiddling with the table cloth, “I would very much like to see them.”

Early Trancy peered up at her with those cold eyes, his lip twisted into a sneer, “I think my wife should stay here. You aren’t a little girl anymore; you don’t belong to your parents. You are my wife and you belong to me. You and my son,” he reached across and touched her heavy stomach.

Fear flooded through her and she pushed his hand away, “Stop it-!”

His grip tightened around her wrist, leaning in, “You want to leave with my baby because of what you saw in the drawing room earlier? You are so naïve, my dear. A husband may have his passions, his little… hobbies. It is a wife’s place to keep her pretty little mouth shut,” he kissed her lifelessly on the cheek. “There’s a good girl.”

She suffered a miscarriage sometime after; her husband grew kinder for a time after that. He held her so gently, rocking her as she wept. He beat the young orphan girl, Anne, whom he had fostered bloody. They suffered but even when Jane was grateful for him, she resented him and wondered if God had taken their child because of the reality of what its father was.

It would be four years before she fell pregnant again. In that time her husband visited her bed less and less, he showed open distaste for her as she aged. She was not the sweet girl he married. He would be kind and loving to her in public, his touch gentle and kind in every other instance but their love making. He never struck her or was violent towards her but for one time. There was a little boy, she had found her husband doing… unspeakable things to the child. She had lost control of herself, snatched the boy away and run down the stairs of their home, towards the door whilst her loving husband pulled up his trousers and cursed at her, blind drunk and screaming.

The child got away, but Countess Trancy was beaten bloody. He said, in a voice like poison that if she ever interfered with him like that again, he’d kill her.

“I have replaced the Countess Trancy before, and believe me, my darling; I have no qualms about doing it again.”

When she held her child in her arms for the first time, she felt a great joy and a great impending sadness. Alois, they named him, and he was so gentle and tiny. He was perfect. His parents adored him, the Earl spoilt him and Jane wrapped him in cotton wool. She ignored the rumours, the weeping stable boys and servants who would leave her husband’s study. She had her son and she convinced herself life would be good again. One day her loving husband would die, that could be any time really, he was aging every day, and she and her son were young. One day he would be gone and they would be happy and make this house a good place again.

But her dreams were dashed once again. She woke in the night, the orphan girl, Anne was weeping. Jane woke up from the noise, she had spoken to her gently but the girl seemed hardly capable of speech. Anne had pointed towards the young master’s room and somehow Jane had known then. She knew the darkness in her husband’s heart, sometimes she saw a look in his eye and prayed, prayed that she was imagining it.

“… As pretty as your mother when she was young,” he used to say that to their boy, with those soft eyes he had looked upon her with when they first met.

It made her sick to think, it was monstrous to imagine. But still, the thought had flickered in her and she had been too horrified at the concept of it that she had failed to protect her son. She had not protected him from the monster that lived within.

Earl Trancy was in his bedclothes, bare chested, scratches and cuts across his arms, across his face. He was weeping like a child, sobbing into Alois’s soft blonde hair, cradling their child tight.

“I-I didn’t mean too-!” he chocked out, “I-I was just trying to hold him-! I was just… He wouldn’t stop screaming-! He wouldn’t be quiet… Oh God-! Alois… Alois-!”

Their son’s head lolled back, lifeless blue eyes gazing back at her, a necklace of purple bruises around his throat.

Jane had screamed, wrenched their boy from his arms, “Don’t touch him! Don’t touch him-! GET AWAY FROM US! GET AWAY-!”She stroked his hair out of his eyes, rocking his tiny body in her arms, “What have you done-?!” she lost control of her words, screaming at him and sobbing. All that life, all that hope had been chocked and drained right out of their child and out of her life.

He forced her once again to lie for him. He said their son had been kidnapped. There was a huge show of looking for him. Vincent Phantomhive came and had icy words with her husband that she could not quite hear, and then said to her very gently that he was sorry for her loss. Everyone must have known that her son hadn’t been kidnapped. Everyone knew but nobody could help her.

Countess Trancy had told too many lies, lost herself piece by piece until she was just a smiling character in the portrait in the hall. She hung herself on Alois’s birthday. She took poison and went to sleep wondering if God would let her see her son again.

Ronald had a deep sinking feeling when the records finished, Mister Spears closed her book and placed it back on top of the pile, “It had none of the answers we sought. Move on to the next, Ronald Knox.”

Just when he thought himself becoming desensitised to that sort of thing he’d see something like this. Mister Spears would look without judgement or emotion at any soul, Ronald’s heart would waver. It wasn’t like he cared much for humans, but some of their stories were tragedies. When you passed your final exam and earned reaper glasses, you were meant to come to understand the weight of a life, yet some lives seemed heavier than others, heavier and harder to let go. At first it had been strange but he got used to it, he’d see pretty human girls and he would avoid asking their name. If he knew their name, he’d know they were destined to die; it didn’t make things complicated, it just made it harder to smile at them while they flirted and took his arm, while they smiled their last smiles. Ronald had heard Alan say once that he valued every soul he reaped; he was a strange reaper indeed. He always seemed so sad when he returned from missions when he filled his quota for the day.

It was said the Undertaker had been a strange one. He was brilliant, but by no means a traditional kind of reaper like Mister Spears. It was said he had a wild laugh, a skill for combat and an unusual sense of humour. In a weird way, he sounded a little as Grell-sempai was. Maybe that was why Mister Spears didn’t want them mixing too much. Ronald personally wouldn’t like to think of Grell running off and leaving this life behind, for all of his strange airs and graces, his senior loved his job.

The boy, Alois Trancy had as miserable records as his mother. He grew up like a doll, dressed in extravagant clothes, kept in a pretty manor, protected from his father’s nature by his mother, spoilt by his father. Earl Trancy’s darkness showed upon his child in small ways, a lingering touch, a frighteningly adult glance, sitting the boy on his lap and refusing to let him down. The boy had been sleeping when the Earl went too far; he started screaming when he awoke. He fought and screamed for his mother, bit at the hand over his mouth. He barely felt any pain as the hands tightened around his throat.

“It is strange,” Mister Spears said suddenly, deep in thought, “I swear the letter that arrived for Grell Sutcliff just an hour after you left, Ronald Knox, was from the Trancy estate.”

“Eh, the Trancy estate? But… we have the whole Trancy family in the records right here?”

“Yes, that is what is puzzling me.”

The Earl Trancy’s soul was one drenched in sin. He was a strong and violent boy with a brute of a father, a father who encouraged him to best other boys in combat, lashed him with a belt or his hand. He drowned his young brother’s dog to teach the boy a lesson. He fell in love when he was thirteen, on holiday in France with his mother’s family. Another boy a summer his junior, Pierre, the son of the cook, the Earl would watch Pierre go for a swim late at night, follow him with his eyes. When his father caught him watching, he called him terrible things, beat him bloody. To prove to his father that he was not soft, the young Earl nearly drowned Pierre in the water. He gave his mother a few pieces of silver for her trouble. After that he was sent to military school, he received many honours, went on to fight in a war. His father, the previous Earl forced him to marry a girl of his choosing; her name was Daphne, she was plain and frumpy, not slender and beautiful like the boys he dreamed of by night. He spent two days in her company, bedded her once after great difficulty and left for Europe. His father was furious but the young Earl cared not, he was twenty-one and ready to conquer the world. He travelled across Europe, in Germany he met his man, Lincoln, a British soldier who became his most loyal and trusted companion. Together they saw Africa, the East, and even ventured across to America. The Earl collected extravagant gifts and relics on his travels. Arnold, his brother wrote to him to tell him that his wife passed away from a fever. The one day Earl Trancy sent flowers to the funeral but did not attend, he shared his ‘grief’ with a young Italian, Firenze, whom he had hired for the night. In fact, the young man, now twenty-six years old, only returned home when Arnold wrote to tell him that their father passed away suddenly.

He accepted his honours from the Queen, his position; he used his contacts all over Europe to become a very good spider indeed. He was praised in Court, never so much as the watchdog. It did not bother him; he took the rivalry between them as seriously in terms of favour with the Queen, but not in society. He did not want or need people prying into his private affairs. Out of the public’s view, nobody would find out about the boys, all the beautiful boys he claimed for a time; his dolls, his most lovely little dolls. But then there was a boy, a handsome German boy, Diedrich was his name, a young heir, his father was something in the military; he was perfect, sternly beautiful, sixteen and perfect. Had he been a poor man’s son, the Earl would have blackmailed the boy’s family into letting him have their son for a night. The Earl had touched him at a party. He lost control of himself, reached out and touched the young man’s cheek; he wanted to look into those eyes and possess him completely, to force him to look his way.

“What are you doing?!” Diedrich snapped, shoving him off violently, “What do you think you’re doing, man?!”

Fear flooded through the Earl’s face, he had been caught, and it wasn’t safe to act like this here. People would misunderstand. He could not make any other nobleman his doll. He could not add them to his collection. He was not in control of this situation; he was far from his web.

“I…”

“Brother,” Arnold touched his shoulder, “Do forgive me, my brother has had a lot to drink. Come along, let’s go home.”

Rumours spread quickly and the Earl was forced to take a new wife to hide behind them. An unmarried man stood out, no matter how privately he kept his business. He chose a lithe, pretty woman of seventeen; she had full breasts and soft blonde curls. He bedded her many times; she was entertaining, frivolous and knew how to please him. Though she grew sexually adventurous and restless and she could not fulfil him as his boys did. She was pregnant with his child after a year, it all seemed too good. The rumours would stop once he had a wife and child. But then he discovered her lover, a groundskeeper. She had taken a hairy, disgusting groundskeeper into her bed. Well he had the man beaten to death and burnt. He could not risk the child inside her was not his, so he saw to it that she miscarried. She hated him so wildly after that, threatened to tell of his bed companions. She mocked him so openly, and really expected him to not react? A tragic accident, all said, a carriage that fell from the tracks, his poor wife was killed. Earl Trancy became a tragic widow for a little while. Nobody spoke about the bruises on the corpse, the bloodied, beaten up face. It was covered up most brilliantly and the Countess Trancy disappeared as easily as a gutter whore.

He lived as he wished for many years, took many lovers, began to age and grew crueller and darker. He adopted a little girl named Anne, who was cruel and vicious. He saw her kicking another child to death in the street for a piece of bread. He told her if she came with him she could eat much nicer things than mouldy old bread. He never touched the girl sexually, he beat her a few times, but he also taught her and groomed her. She was a smart little thing, apathetic towards other children. Anne would go and befriend other street children, bring them to him with promises of a better life. She would wear sweet smiles and lure them in. Sometimes she would lure the teenage boys he liked so much, with promises for her own body, lead them by the hand with gentle kisses and promises, right into the spider’s web. It was satisfying, it took up his time, but he was plagued by dark thoughts; he could not have a beautiful noble, one that he wanted so passionately for his collection. A noble boy could not come to belong to him. But a son of his own would be born into his power, his to own as he liked. He had almost abandoned dreams of it when he saw her.

Her name was Jane, she was very lovely, just fourteen, petit and doll like and everything he had dreamt of in his wife. A child, who looked like her, a little boy, would be so beautiful. He lusted for her, danced with her at many parties, made her smile. He spoke to her father, who was, as many were, more interested in money and connections than he was the fact he was giving his only daughter to a man his own age. Still, she was a sweet girl and she seemed happy enough. He delighted in making her smile at first. She never grew sexually vulgar; she was a proper little lady. This was the woman who should father the son he longed for.

The rest was the same. After the death of his wife, the Earl grew darker. He almost removed himself from society, not to grieve, but to gather boys. Anne continued her good work and he employed a greater staff. Everyone in his employment covered his secret, even his brother, Arnold knew as he wore a good face for their family in public. A spider would have as many flies as he liked, he had as many pieces of thread to do his bidding and bind the flies to him. He ate them up, all of them. But none of these boys could replace his son; none of them knew what they wanted. They were frightened children and then they were drained and boring.

His only affection fell upon his nephew, Aleister Chambers, whose father, who had been the Viscount of Druitt passed away in the war. He was born in France and adorable, he had the blonde hair of the Trancy family. He came to boarding school in England and later medical school, flaunting his title and land. He had a great love for beautiful things and had a great love for the works of art and culture at Trancy manor. The Earl would forget his perversions around his nephew; he even considered making the boy his heir should Arnold die before him. His nephew was a spoilt aristocrat, who came to stay with him whenever he fought with his parents.

“I shall stay here until Papa stops being unreasonable!” he declared dramatically, a hand to his forehead, “Uncle Trancy understands, surely? You would never scold me for… why something as trivial as being suspended from medical school-!”

The Earl laughed, “What on earth did you do this time, nephew?”

“Why I came across a young nurse, as lovely as a fresh lamb of spring! I simply charmed her, shared some of my wine, and we fell together in a night of passion. How was I supposed to know these English schools are so rigid? Why, in France, this never would have happened, but the French women are so…” he had an angelic smile. His mother had spoilt him and now his stepfather struggled with the consequences.

“When are you allowed to go back to medical school?”

“When the silly girl’s father stops insisting I marry her. She isn’t carrying a child, but they did send Papa and Mama a blooded sheet. Papa was furious and turned up at my housing in a rage. So I climbed out the back window, carrying what I could. He has cut me off, you see? So until then, I was hoping, perhaps I could stay here until things have calmed down?” he put his hands together as if in prayer, “God above us, please say you will, Uncle Trancy?”

The Earl laughed, “Why, how could I be your favourite uncle if I refused my nephew in his hour of need?” he clapped a hand on his back, “I shall have the maids set up your bedroom.” He was relieved that he himself had just returned from Her Majesty’s business in London and therefore all the boys were safely locked up.

There was no use upsetting his poor, dimwitted nephew with things he did not understand.

There were so many close calls, so many dead children; but there was never anyone special, anyone who was worthy of him. There was a boy once, Carin, who was so soft and gentle, not dirty but pure and lovely. He wanted him very much; he wanted to keep him smiling after the boy’s frightened tears dried up. He even gave him a little room to play in, a nice warm bed. But none of that made him smile, in the end Carin wandered off into the woods like many others who got free; another heart breaking disappointment for the Earl Trancy.

So many boys, but none of them would do it, not one would call him ‘Father’ or ‘Papa’ or be… what he wanted. It filled him with rage, turned him to drink, and made him so angry. They were all useless until a child he thought was dirty and useless came back to him. Like a butterfly from a caterpillar, lovely and perfect, like his own dead Alois brought back to life. A perfect boy. He was like Jane in his looks, with those bright happy eyes she had when he first saw her dancing with her cousins at a ball in May.

A boy whose foot he laid gentle kisses upon as the child whispered, “Father” in a silky, beautiful tone. He was as good as what he dreamed, his fantasy brought to life in the most unexpected of ways.

He gave him the name Alois, dressed him well, took him to many happy events in London, he rejoiced that he had found his lost son. Alois was the darling of many society characters, he dallied and flirted and tapped away with other young men with dancing feet the Earl did not have anymore. His Alois always paid for being so frivolous with other men later, when they were home, back in the spider’s web. Lincoln didn’t approve, but he wouldn’t dare contradict his master’s wishes. Anything his Alois wanted, he got, as long as he learnt, kept his mouth shut and carried on doing things the Earl enjoyed. This Alois would kiss him, hold him gently, gasp in pleasure and grasp hold of his hair when the Earl had him. He’d ravage him in ways before the Earl Trancy had only dreamt.

“Papa, this is Claude,” the blonde boy whose name did not match his face said brightly, “He’s wonderful and he’s going to make Trancy manor wonderful too.”

The new man was young, perhaps in his late twenties; he was very handsome, in a bright green and red suit. He had startling eyes, lovely thick hair, and Alois spoke to him so fondly. The Earl would have been angry that his boy had set eyes on a man like that, but this Claude has such a serious expression. He was a soldier, a man who did not laugh; he would never return those glances. He was no rival of love.

“Where did you meet him?” he asked disapprovingly, “I haven’t seen this one before.”

“We met in the woods,” Alois said cheerfully, kissing him on the cheek, “It’d make me ‘appy!”

“Happy, it would make you happy,” he snapped, “You talk properly or everyone who hears you will know what a distasteful little whore you are!”

The boy’s eyes widened, upset. He had stood against worse insults; he had been beaten and called dirty once. He had his backside lashed by Lincoln for his intellectual failings. But the Earl hated to see the boy look so sad. “I am just reminding you to be a proper little lord, Alois,” he stroked his cheek, “If you want a manservant, you must behave properly. Now that would make me happy.”

Alois giggled, “Oh, you know me, Father, I’m always very good.”

“Yes, you are a good boy.”

“So… I can have Claude as my manservant? Please, Papa, please let Claude be my manservant? He’ll be a nice loyal one, like Mr Lincoln is for you!”

“Mm, I shall see, my boy… He might not be the right, sort.” His hands ran along the boy’s sides, smoothing along his hips, resting upon the curve of his backside, he took in the scent of his hair and smirked lecherously at Claude to test his reaction. The amber eyed man did nothing; he waited in silence, impassive to what he saw.

That was good, that was what made a Trancy servant.

The Earl’s health began to fail after that, he tried to carry on mounting his dolls. Alois came to him less and less; sometimes he would scream for him in the night, curse him for not coming. He’d curse Lincoln for failing to bring his boy to him. Lincoln would return from trying to force Alois here with a broken nose or a broken wrist and bruises; all from that manservant, that Claude… Alois would come back in the morning, with a sweet smile and a cup of warm honeyed milk.

“Poor Papa,” he would say, shaking his head, “I hear you slept terribly. I’m very sorry; Claude says it’s proper for a young lord to get his proper sleep. Here, I bought you a special drink to make you feel better.”

He should have known. He had seen worse, lived through worse. But that boy bested him in the end. He was dying when the amber-eyed man came to his bedside; he took one of the pillows from the bed as if to fluff it, his smirk was dangerous. It was a look he knew, masked with something that he didn’t. And then Alois giggled, peering down at him from Claude’s side.

“He looks funny, doesn’t he, Claude? So still and trapped, like a butterfly in the spider’s web… such an ugly butterfly,” he perched onto the edge of the bed, one hand brushed against the Earl’s cheek.

“Yes, Master, he looks very ugly.”

“Can he hear us? His eyes are open…” Alois bit his bottom lip as if deep in thought, then he leant down, his lips close to the Earl’s ear where he near shouted, “Can you hear me, you old bastard?” He sat up to admire his reaction. The Earl was staring at him like he’d never seen him before. This was not his Alois; this was that dirty boy he had brought to Trancy manor and another. It was like his vision blurred with this boy into something sick and warped. The boy was laughing, “Oh, Claude, he can hear me after all!” he back handed the Earl across the face; he felt the sting of his family ring cut his cheek. “I am wearing this ring today,” Alois said brightly, “It’s mine now. It hasn’t fit on those fat, sweaty hands of yours for bloody ages. It suits me much better, doesn’t it, Claude?”

“Yes, Master.”

Alois smiled at him, “You humiliated me, old man. I felt sick whenever you touched me, but that doesn’t matter anymore. You gave me this lovely name, and I rather like this manor too, I think I’ll change all those horrible paintings and colours. They’re very tasteless, like you, you old pervert…Go on, Claude, do it. Don’t keep me waiting around!”

“Yes, Master.”

Earl Trancy watched as the pillow lowered over his face.

“Dead men don’t send party invitations, but imposters do,” William said with a frown.

“Mister Spears?”

“Alois Trancy sent a ball invitation to Grell Sutcliff, a ball in honour of Ciel Phantomhive. I was puzzled in the office and sent Grell on an errand to find some various records, as I was sure I had seen them,” he tapped his fingers on the table, “I remember records being collected from souls at the Trancy estate some years ago, all young boys…”

Ronald frowned, “What do we do next, Mister Spears?”

“We investigate this impostor. See where he comes from, see how this demon, this Claude, relates to him and what their next move will be.” He glanced back at the running record, disconnected images of the man called Claude. It was unsettling; he was very much like that other vile demon posing as a servant. Apart from this demon was golden eyed, and there was something… less worldly about him and the way he conducted himself.

Part of Shinigami training was the study in detail of their enemy – the demons. Although their information source was limited and often dated, it was well known that demons came in all forms. The demon calling himself Sebastian Michaelis was seasoned, intuitive, and unusually drawn to one soul. His age was ancient; the world was old hat to him no matter how it changed. He was dangerous, but at least collared for now.

This Claude, he was different. He seemed, hungry in all of the instances captured, and now in close up, those amber eyes were filled with need to devour whilst remaining as cold as freshly cut ice. This was a different breed of demon, and from other glimpses taken from victims, Claude was not working alone. He had acquired the assistance of another demon, one even younger and even less seasoned in souls; two demons in a contract with this impostor? Was it possible? There had been stories and records of a human splitting its soul between lesser demons in exchange for their services; was that what was happening now?

“Come along, Ronald Knox,” he got to his feet, “We need to gather as much information as we can about this… impostor.”

* * *

The Undertaker had described Jasper Franklin as a skinny young man of fourteen with long dark brown hair and blue eyes. His letter had been poorly written but contained some very interesting facts about the dead boy in the casket. It would not be the first time Ciel had to question and deal with prostitutes, but it still made him uncomfortable. The whole sex trade made him feel uncomfortable. It brought back memories of waiting outside Mary Kelly’s rooms, failing to save her, of finding out the truth behind his Aunt. He would find himself thinking of Madam Red often; when his asthma returned during his investigation of the circus, he had often dreamt it was her at his bedside. She had adapted to the new him when he became the Queen’s watchdog, whilst reminding him softly and sadly of a time before, when his parents were still alive. Ciel knew better than most that darkness lived inside the most unexpected of people, and he never quite understood what made his passionate, sarcastic aunt murder all those women. Perhaps it was best he never knew. His aunt’s name had not been dragged through the mud with her death; nobody knew she had been Jack the Ripper. The streetwalkers of London continued about their business, Jack the Ripper fading into the background, a scary story and nothing more.

But now prostitutes and many other people were being murdered again. It was Jack the Ripper on a larger scale and so far Ciel had nothing to connect them, nowhere to put the pieces together except for the dead boy in the coffin and this letter from Jasper Franklin.

Ciel shivered, drawing his coat tighter around him, the clasp cool against his chin. It was getting cold again. But it wasn’t just the air this evening; it was what happened at the Undertaker’s. It had knocked him out of his comfort zone. The Undertaker’s words had cut him to the core, ‘a fate that could have been yours’. Ciel’s hands clenched into fists, he bit his bottom lip suppressing an angered snarl. No, it would never have been him.

If he had not been able to call Sebastian to him, then he would have died, just like his parents. That had been the other fate he acknowledged, he had never once considered the chance of escape. And even if he had, he would never have ended up a miserable street walker; that was not him. He was a Phantomhive. If he fell into darkness, back to the bottom of the pit then he would die with nothing, then his life would be meaningless and he would never have his revenge. The Undertaker was wrong; his strength did not come from Sebastian. Sebastian was his tool, his sword arm, his knight; he was not what defined Ciel and gave him courage to move on. He was his tool, his pawn; everyone who served him was his pawn. He was never nothing.

“You seem troubled, my lord,” Sebastian said, peering down at him with a slightly mocking smile, “Did the Undertaker upset you that much?”

“Quiet,” he snapped, “No, I am just impatient. This JasperFranklin is taking his time.”

“Rather, though in such a profession I daresay the daylight hours are spent by those fortunate enough to have lodgings, snuggled up beneath a blanket on a hard wooden floor.”

Ciel nodded, waving his hand irritably. He had agreed to meetFranklin on one of the quieter streets, closer to Lau’s district. It was approaching the early evening, it made Ciel uncomfortable; he did not want to be seen at later hours with a well-known streetwalker. He peered around restlessly, trying to find a young male who fit the Undertaker’s description; but there was nobody around, save for a couple of beggars and a handful of sailors.

“Sebastian, did you give the letter to the appropriate person in order for it to reach Grell Sutcliff?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good, I’d rather not see that idiot for a while,” he rubbed his temples, “He had been there recently, it seems. That is puzzling, I was very much under the impression the reapers wanted to capture the Undertaker? That was what stopped us from detaining him before.”

Sebastian nodded, “Yes, but I believe the reapers are perhaps having the same problem taking the Undertaker into custody as yourself, young master.”

“After this case is resolved, perhaps,” Ciel nodded, “The man makes my skin crawl.”

“Indeed, his insolence towards you will not happen again. I never tell lies after all, my young lord,” he bowed his head a hand over where his heart would be.

“No, but it never stopped you from keeping things from me in the past,” he sneered, peering up at him, “You are such a disobedient dog, Sebastian.”

“It certainly hurts me to hear you say so, sir. Does this mean I am not invited to Earl Trancy’s ball?”

Ciel scowled at him, wrinkling his nose in disgust, “Well he certainly would spare me no shame in sending you an invitation. After all, he sent one to the Undertaker. I daresay Lizzie and the idiot prince and our whole household will be waving that silly piece of paper about.”

“Hopefully this time the ball will not end in a swordfight, Master.”

“He had no idea how to fence,” Ciel said suddenly, “None whatsoever. He was worse than Prince Soma.”

“Yes, I had noticed as much,” Sebastian nodded, “His style was reminiscent of when one sees poor children playing at knights and princesses with sticks and sheets of metal. Still, he nearly took off my poor young master’s head.”

“He did no such thing,” he countered, “A wild beast in noble clothes, I feel ashamed that he so much as shared a room with Her Majesty, let alone received the honour of an Earl,” he grit his teeth, smoothing down his collar, “And that butler has such an unsettling gaze. They are not a pair that should mix in high society.”

“His butler, sir?” Sebastian smirked, “I believe his name is Claude Faustus. We butlers do pop up in the most… unusual places.”

Ciel frowned, “What do you mean by that?” he turned to face him when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. He glanced into the alleyway to see a pretty young girl a few inches taller than him. She wore heeled black shoes with long dark hair trailing down to her middle; her eyes were blue and appeared larger in her thin pointed face. Her lips were painted a dullen red and her dress was tight at the bodice with long skirts, a moth eaten shawl around her shoulders. “Earl Phantomhive?” the girl spoke quietly, peering nervously about the street, “You are Earl Ciel Phantomhive, right?”

“You have the honour of addressing my master, the Earl Phantomhive,” Sebastian bowed his head, “You are JasperFranklin, I presume?”

Ciel let out a gasp, about to snap at Sebastian for being stupid, when the girl, or what he had believed to be a girl, nodded with enthusiasm.

“Oh, I’m glad I found ye! Yer the only well-dressed gentlemen about so I knew it ‘ad to be ye! The coffin man said I was t’ speak t’ nobody else but Earl Phantomhive n’ his butler. I thought you was a bit too young to be a noble like, but there’d be no other reason for yer to be out ‘ere unless it were you.”

“Y-You’re him, you’re JasperFranklin? Why are you wearing skirts, man?”

He hated to be reminded of that pink dress, of Lizzie nearly seeing him… it made him shudder. He knew he shouldn’t have been so surprised but it still shocked him.Franklin did not look the slightest bit embarrassed.

“Oh, makes trade a bit easier. Come with me, Earl Phantomhive, I ‘ave somewhere private we can talk!” he turned into the alley, going to rush ahead before remembering himself and bowing a little, “If yer’d be so kind, m’lord.”

“Yes,” Ciel said stiffly, “Very well, lead the way.”

Hale led them through the streets to a tiny little inn, instead of using the front door; he stepped around to the side. “Wait right ‘ere, Earl,” he said, holding onto the drain pipe as he climbed in through the window. Ciel exchanged a glance with Sebastian as he heard a shuffling sound a hushed whispering and then the door opened. “Come in, this is my friend’s place. It’s quiet and safe to talk here.”

The room was filthy; there was mould on the opposite wall from the damp. This was truly the sorriest little house Ciel had ever been inside. There was a tiny little fire in the back of the room nearby a creaky looking wooden door which led to the main part of the inn. A tired looking middle aged man was sat by the fire; he glowered a little at Ciel and Sebastian, “Jas, what is this? Who’re these men?”

“David, yer said I could use one of the empty rooms?”

“Not for your… bloody business. I told yer I don’t like yer doin’ it.”

“It ain’t like that, these men are important. I’m telling ‘em about Sammy.”

“Jas, I told you, police won’t be interested in Sam. He’s just another dead body to them, his corpse was probably too far from the river for them to chuck in it…”

“Ye don’t know anything about it!”Franklin snapped angrily, “Ya shut it n’ give me the key like yer promised.”

The man glanced over at them dismissively, picking up a chain which had a variety of keys dangling from it, “Don’t like officials to me, Jas. That one there’s just a kiddie.”

“Well, he ain’t ‘ere for ‘bloody business’ then, is ‘e?”Franklin took the key off the chain and walked through the main door, his hair sweeping behind him. He glanced back, gesturing to the hallway, “Right through here, sir. Pay David no mind. He worries about me some n’ forgets himself…”

Ciel frowned at the man a little, allowing no such insult as he stepped into the inn. It was so dirty looking he wondered how it maintained the standard of prostitutes not bringing their men here.Franklin walked up the creaky stairs and opened the first door on the second floor, “Just in ‘ere. I… I’m very grateful for yer to comin’ to talk to me.”

“Yes,” he nodded, taking a seat on one of the wooden chairs, whileFranklin sat on the window ledge, casting his eyes down at the street, “Well I understand you have some information that could help me save many more lives. People like your friend Samuel Carter.”

“Well… I… I tried speaking to the police. The old man in charge wouldn’t even look at me, Sammy weren’t anyone important like some of these murder victims have been, but he was my friend. He was a good person, looked after me, got me to a nice doctor when I got beaten bad a few years back,” he raised a hand to his head as if to show them something, his ear perhaps, before colouring and changing his mind, “Nobody else really knew, but he’d sometimes tell me about his life, before ‘ere, in the countryside, when he lived in this big ‘ouse, n’ I think he was killed because he knew something.”

Ciel frowned, “I am listening.”

“He never liked talking about the big ‘ouse much. Sometimes he’d have bad dreams, he’d wake up screamin’ or cryin’, shakin’ like a leaf, told me that this old man, an Earl or a Lord, he used to… touch him, give him sweet wine and fuck ‘im,” he shivered, “Sounded proper scary t’ me. This old man, ‘e had boys, really young ones, locked up in cells in ‘his cellar, like wines. An’ he’d beat ‘em bloody, some would kill ‘emselves walk into the woods behind the ‘ouse,”Franklin hugged his knees.

That was interesting; a lot of the current victims were young boys. But not all of them were, however a house like this would have had servants, all kinds of servants. Servants who, when the Lord died, ran off, ran away from exposure perhaps and were so scared most of them became vagrants along the roadside or in taverns, or bought new identities altogether, working their way into a prestigious new life.

“Did Sam ever mention what the manor was called? Or what the old lord’s name was?”

“Always called the old lord the ‘monster’ or something like that,” he admitted, “I ‘eard him talking about the place’s name once or twice. It had a strange name, sounded like a lady’s name, I think,” he bit his bottom lip, deep in thought, “I don’t really remember, ‘e hated talking about it.”

Ciel nodded, “Did he say anything else about the manor’s location? You mentioned there was a wood behind it? Which part of England was it in? Was it close to where Sam was from?”

“South of London, Sam was from outside Derby, ‘e said a lady ‘oo was a servant in posh dresses picked him an’ a load of other boys up in a wagon, sayin’ her master would give ‘em warm beds and sweets. ‘E never ‘ad any parents or people to tell ‘im he shouldn’t listen. I ‘ad me brothers till they died in the war, but ‘e never ‘ad anyone, y’see.”

“The woman would explore the country looking for orphans or abandoned children and her master would keep them as slaves,” Ciel repeated, the idea made him feel sick. The image of children in cells reminded him of Baron Kelvin, of his own experiences many years ago. “How did your friend escape?”

“’E said there was a boy there, a little older than ‘im, a really strange boy. ‘E got close to the Master, knew ‘ow to please ‘im, ‘e did. The monster lord made ‘im ‘is son, and the boy took over when ‘e died. ‘E let out all the boys in cells, Sam said ‘e gave ‘em all a fair bit of money an’ all.”

Now that was interesting, Ciel leant forwards, “This other boy, did your friend know his name? Did he tell you?”

“Jim, it was Jim, like my brother, sir,” he hugged himself around the middle, “’E never said a last name, orphans don’t tend to in these parts, Earl,”Franklin bit his lip as if he wanted to say something else but didn’t quite have the courage too.

“You think your friend was killed because of what he knew about this mansion?”

“Yeah, when… that fine lady was killed, the newspapers did a report on it. One of Sam’s regular fella’s, ‘e works at the printers, that’s ‘ow we heard about it… We saw ‘er picture and Sam went all pale n’ rigid.”

“Lady (Can’t Remember Her Name)? Carter recognized her?”

“’E said she’d been the ‘ouse keeper’s daughter, she worked as a maid. Sam said ‘e was getting scared, because she wasn’t the first face he’d recognized in the papers. ‘E ‘ad this saying, ‘You can run far away from your sins, but they’ll find you again’. The coffin man said Sam looked peaceful n’ ‘e didn’t suffer nearly at all, I think its c’os ‘e knew it were gonna happen,” his eyes watered, “I wish I’d made ‘im stay with me ‘stead of goin’ off on his own…”

“On the night of Samuel Carter’s death, you were together and split up?”

“Yeah, sir, I went to get me frock on. Sammy ‘ad come to find me, I’d… I’d gone off on a little walk to the bridge that I like, makes me feel safe, sometimes I get scared before a shift but I lost track o’ time an’ went to sleep. Sammy came n’ found me, but it made us late. He went off t’ find the girls, c’os sometimes they get into a bit of trouble. Men gettin’ rough n’ not wanting t’ pay. Sam would fight ‘em off, or ‘e’d try too. ‘E was really brave, not like me.”

“You didn’t see the killer at all?”

“No, sir, I went t’ find Sam when the girls said ‘e never showed up. Mr Denton, our… our sort of boss, ‘e was angry when ‘e heard I’d walked off from my post, but Sam always went lookin’ for me,” his eyes watered a little, “I-I found ‘im in the street, tried to sit ‘im up, but he was all cold and bloody. I shouted for help, but ‘e was dead. ‘E’d been dead a while, ‘ad been hours since we split up to get ready, sir,” he was wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his dress, trying to compose himself. Sebastian handed him a handkerchief, which he tried to refuse at first, before wiping his eyes timidly with it, “Thank you, Mister Butler,” he said when he had calmed a little. “I-I know it’s been a while, I shouldn’t be blubbering like this still, b-but… I miss ‘im, ‘e was my friend.”

“It’s alright,” Sebastian said soothingly, “Take time to calm down, you are doing splendidly. The information you provide will help my Master assure such terrible things do not happen again.”

Hale looked up at him and his cheeks flushed a little, Sebastian had that effect on most people, usually women. He looked away, biting his bottom lip, “There was… another thing, it will sound silly, and I’m not sure…”

“Any information you have about your friend you think is relevant could prove very useful to me,” Ciel said to prompt him. A boy like this was unsuited for a life like this; he was innocent despite his career choice, jumpy and emotional. He probably fell in love with every man who didn’t beat him.

“Sam said an old lady in his town before he got taken to the big ‘ouse, she taught him how to summon a fairy. ‘E drew magic circles in the ground, a pretty pattern, sort of like a star. ‘E said ‘e could’ve summoned a fairy to save ‘im using the mark and these magic words, but ‘e never did. The old lady told ‘im the price was too big to do lightly, Sammy said ‘e was never brave enough to try it. But ‘e thinks the other boy, Jim, did. ‘E told Jim ‘ow to do it, when they was boys in the cells.”

“Summoning a fairy?” Ciel glanced briefly at Sebastian, “Could you perhaps draw the mark for us?”

“I think I could,” Jasper said, “Sometimes ‘e’d draw it in the dirt on our floor, when ‘is mind was wandering about…” he blushed when Sebastian opened his coat and handed him a small piece of paper and a pen. He pressed on too hard with the pen, Ciel doubted he could read or write, but drawing would be simple enough.Franklin pressed the paper against the window ledge, tracing the outline, biting his lip in thought and then finishing it, “It looks sort of like that, sir.”

It was an upside down star with a pentagon at its centre. A demon’s mark, Ciel was sure; he glanced at Sebastian, who gave a silent nod of his head. Demons were at work here; perhaps that explained Grell’s presence at the Undertaker’s. The reapers were interested in this as well; a demon at work behind the scenes, a demon in service to a young bed warmer now in disguise as a nobleman.

He would have Sebastian form a list of suspects, but Ciel already had his suspicions.

“MisterFranklin, thank you very much for all your help. Sebastian, you will see MisterFranklin is suitably rewarded for his efforts.”

“I didn’t do this for no reward,” he protested weakly, “I didn’t-!”

“You are a trader of sorts, MisterFranklin. This information you have provided my Master with is very valuable. I would not be doing my job as a Phantomhive butler if I did not see you rewarded. Master, if you be so kind as to wait for me outside.”

Ciel frowned a little, “Do not keep me waiting, Sebastian,” he said coldly, closing the door behind him.

“Mister Butler, I really don’t want anything fancy,” Jasper said meekly when they were left alone. He couldn’t look directly at such a handsome man. He stood up, smoothing his skirts a little, “Anything nice gets snatched in this side of town, so really, I’m not… I don’t need all these kindnesses.” In truth, he didn’t know what to do with kindness. His brothers had military graves, they had no money. His brothers received new homes of earth and wood, whilst Jasper, the youngest brother was put out on the streets. Nobody would help him, men and women who had smiled at him when his brothers were alive, would walk passed him in the street as though he didn’t exist. His situation didn’t improve much, he near starved many times. He put on a ragged girls dress when he was eleven when he saw little street girls sometimes being given bread whilst the boys had to fight for scraps. As he got older, when Mister Denton showed him new ways to make money, he knew less and less of good people. Sam was the first person to be kind to him. He had stopped a man from beating him one night. He’d jumped on Jasper’s attackers back and tackled him to the floor. While the man struggled to get up, Sam had snatched Jas’s hand and dragged him to safety. He protected him, stayed up with him all night when his ear was cut off and he nearly bled to death.

“After that, the coffin man was kind. He had a funny way about him, smelled of corpses and chemicals, but he didn’t shun Jasper as many others had. Jasper had been so afraid the money he offered for a burial wouldn’t be enough, he asked everyone he really tried. He was so certain this strange silver haired man would turn him away. But the Undertaker just smiled his wild smile and said, “You have enough to give his body to fire. Some people believe it’s the purest death; would you like that for your friend, little MisterFranklin?”

Jasper had been so happy he wept.

Sebastian smiled at him, “You have a good memory, MisterFranklin, and you seem to have many friends outside of your profession. Someone with skills like yours need not waste them being beaten and maimed on late night streets,” he saw the boy’s hand flinch up to his missing ear to check his hair was still covering it. He gazed up at Sebastian, shocked but silent as he continued. “My master has an associate, a man named Mister Lau. You will find him at an establishment called the Blue Dragon. He has many little birds whispering into his ear, and he protects those who work for him.”

“Mister Denton wouldn’t like that…”

“I believe I said Mister Lau protects those who work for him? You won’t have to worry about this previous employer of yours again.”

“What… if he won’t employ me?”

“You come with my Master’s recommendation, Mister Lau would not turn you away,” he lifted one of Jasper’s hands and closed some money into it, “Take care, MisterFranklin. Do see go and see Mister Lau as soon as possible. You can contact my master through his connections with Lau, should you have any information for us in the future.”

“Yes,” he whispered, glancing timidly at the hand Sebastian had just touched, and bowing politely, “Thank you, Mister Butler. I… I hope your Master is able to catch Sam’s killer.”

Sebastian smiled at him over his shoulder as he turned towards the door. Ciel was frowning at him as he closed it behind him, “What were you doing in there?” he asked.

“Rewarding our contact, as you asked, Master,” he said brightly, “I have passed him Mister Lau’s details. He was very grateful, sir.”

“Good,” Ciel said stiffly, walking out of the inn, he peered over his shoulder at Sebastian, “You know what to do next, don’t you?”

Sebastian closed his eyes, his lips twisting into a subtle smile, “Yes, my lord.”
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The Devil's Smile