Shadows of the Phantomhive

Into the Shadows

Chapter Two: Into the Shadows

The morning fog hung thick over the narrow streets, casting a damp chill across the crumbling bricks and rickety structures of London's slums. Every building seemed to huddle together, as if to keep out the light, and the stench of rotting waste permeated the air. Stray cats prowled, their green eyes flashing before they slunk back into dark alleys. Sebastian steered their modest carriage to a halt beside a sagging building, every bump in the road provoking a deeper scowl from Ciel.

"Of all the filthy, revolting places Her Majesty could have sent me..." Ciel muttered, brushing at his worn coat as though it might somehow shield him from the grime around him. His usually fine clothes had been exchanged for plain trousers, a patched wool jacket, and a rough shirt that itched uncomfortably. Even his signature eye patch had been replaced with a simple strip of black fabric to better fit the role of an ordinary boy.

"Now, now, young master," Sebastian replied with a hint of amusement. "As the 'son' of a humble laborer, you're expected to fit in. A little discomfort is part of the role."

Ciel glared at him, distaste etched on his face. "A 'laborer's son' indeed," he muttered. "The only thing more humiliating than living in this wretched place is having to pretend I belong here."

Sebastian gave a respectful bow, though his eyes gleamed. "Consider it part of your training, my lord. The Queen's Watchdog must understand all walks of life—even the unpleasant ones."

With a begrudging sigh, Ciel climbed down from the carriage and stepped onto the muddy ground. He caught himself brushing at his boots out of habit but quickly stopped, reminding himself that, in these clothes, he could hardly afford to look out of place. Straightening up, he walked into the slum, taking in every detail with sharp, calculating eyes.

Their rented flat was on the upper floor of a narrow building with crumbling bricks, sagging wooden beams, and a door that creaked ominously. Inside was scarcely better—a tattered armchair, a splintered table, and two thin, lumpy cots were the only furnishings. Ciel wrinkled his nose as he surveyed the place.

"Sebastian, it smells like... mildew and mold."

"A fair assessment, young master," Sebastian replied, setting their few belongings on the floor. "Though the locals might simply call it home."

Ciel sighed, casting a glance around the dim room. He had to admit, Sebastian was right. No one would look twice at a child of the slums here. Still, it didn't make the situation any less aggravating. But if the mission required it, he'd make do. He always did.

After a brief tour of their meager lodgings, Sebastian led Ciel through the neighborhood, pointing out places of interest—the cramped pub down the street, an old bakery, and the large brick school building where Ciel would soon be attending. The residents here barely gave Ciel a second glance, likely seeing him as nothing more than a scruffy boy and Sebastian as his weary father.

"Odd, isn't it, to go from the manor to... this," Ciel muttered, casting a disdainful look at a pile of refuse in the street.

"Merely a change of scenery," Sebastian replied smoothly. "Besides, it gives you the perfect cover. As a boy in this neighborhood, you're practically invisible."

As they walked, a group of boys around Ciel's age spotted them. One of them sneered, taking in Ciel's plain clothes and Sebastian's worn coat with barely concealed disdain.

"Oi, who's the new runt?" one of them called, eyeing Ciel with a grin. "Your old man bring you here to toughen you up, eh?"

Ciel bristled, but Sebastian put a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Just moved in, lads," Sebastian said with a calm smile, speaking in a tone that sounded just rough enough to fit in. "Looking to make a fresh start."

The boy shrugged, giving Ciel one last curious glance before wandering off. Sebastian inclined his head, urging Ciel forward.

"I didn't need your help," Ciel muttered. "I could've handled that fool on my own."

"Undoubtedly, my lord," Sebastian replied, barely hiding his amusement. "But it's best not to draw attention to yourself so early. After all, we're meant to blend in."

With a begrudging nod, Ciel continued walking, though his sharp eyes kept scanning his surroundings. It was strange, really—despite his distaste, the slums felt vaguely familiar. He'd learned early on how to read people, to see their needs and desperation. He could see it here, in the way the children scavenged for food, in the way the adults clutched their belongings tightly as they walked. This wasn't a life he'd chosen, but he understood it.

As they passed by a narrow alley, a small figure caught his eye—a girl, no older than eight, crouched beside a broken crate with a torn loaf of bread in her hands. Her clothes were tattered, and her wide eyes darted around fearfully as she ate in quick, furtive bites.

Without a word, Ciel approached her. She looked up, startled, her grip tightening on the bread as if ready to flee.

"Relax," he said in a low, measured tone. "I don't want it."

Her eyes flickered with suspicion, but she didn't run. Instead, she watched him as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small coin, placing it beside her.

"If anyone gives you trouble, use it to buy yourself another loaf," he said curtly, glancing back toward Sebastian, who observed the scene with quiet approval.

The girl hesitated for a moment, then quickly snatched up the coin, her face softening in something like gratitude. She gave a quick nod before darting back into the shadows.

"Helping the locals already, young master?" Sebastian asked, his tone light but respectful.

Ciel sniffed, feigning indifference. "It's nothing. The fewer children who get in the way, the better." But he didn't miss the way Sebastian's eyes glinted with a knowing look.

By the time they returned to their lodgings, Ciel felt a little less like an outsider, though he'd never admit it. He slouched in the worn armchair by the window, watching the street below as people went about their business, oblivious to his gaze. He could see how this world worked—who held power, who survived, and who didn't. It was an ugly, rough system, but somehow, he knew exactly how to navigate it.

As the day grew darker, a knock echoed through their small flat. Sebastian opened the door to reveal an elderly woman with gray hair tied back in a messy bun, dressed in layers of worn fabric. She looked from Sebastian to Ciel, her sharp eyes filled with curiosity.

"New around here, are ya?" she asked, her voice rough but friendly. "Thought I'd come by and see if ye needed anything. It's not easy for a father and son to get by here."

Sebastian gave a polite nod. "We appreciate your kindness, ma'am. My son here isn't used to these parts, but he's adjusting well enough."

Ciel shot him a glare but quickly masked it, returning the woman's curious look with one of calm indifference. "We'll manage just fine, thank you."

She chuckled, undeterred by his tone. "Well, if you find yourselves in need, just ask for Martha. I'm just down the hall." She gave Ciel a nod. "Take care, lad. Keep close to your father here. This part of town can be a bit... rough."

With that, she shuffled back down the hall. Ciel closed the door with a huff, crossing his arms as he returned to his spot by the window.

"It seems they're eager to look out for you, young master," Sebastian observed, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Ciel snorted. "Let them. If they think I'm just some poor, helpless child, it'll only make our work easier."

Settling in for the evening, Ciel's eyes narrowed as he looked out into the darkness. The slums were a world apart from his manor, but he'd already learned enough to know he could survive here. He would find the criminals lurking in these shadows, one way or another.

"Sebastian," he said, his voice carrying a hint of satisfaction, "brew some tea—if you can even call it that here."

Sebastian bowed, a glint of admiration in his eyes. "Of course, my lord. As always, I shall endeavor to make it... one hell of a tea."