1881 Smallpox epidemic; hospital ships moored in Thames
1883 Measles epidemic
1885 Measles epidemic
1887 Measles epidemic
1888 Severe measles epidemic in Staffordshire
1889 Measles epidemic; influenza pandemic between a third and a half of population ill. Medical opinion holds that this strain was the same mutation that returned in the 1918 pandemic

1883—Alan Humphries is accepted as a trainee by Eric Slingby, Senior Collections Agent of the London Branch.

Slingby had forgotten how long he had been a Reaper. It was an endless cycle of 16-hour workdays, frequent overtime, death and darkness, harvesting souls and their life histories for the Library, filling out endless reports and forms. Few remained sane after the first half-century or so. The office was a holding cell of coping mechanisms. As those mechanisms formed, strengthened and failed, Reapers came and went. Slowly they would spin more and more off-center; then there would be an empty desk and additional work. Somehow they were always shorthanded. London had a reputation of being a terrible employer, chronically underfunded and understaffed, covering a rapidly growing population in a disease-ridden city. Slingby stayed because somebody had to. He made acquaintances but few friends. It hurt when friends disappeared. There was plenty of pain already. He advised his trainees to transfer out to safer places as soon as they achieved sufficient seniority.

At some point Grell Sutcliff appeared. He was a flash of bright color in a gray world. Flamboyance wrapped around a core of incandescent anger, a deadly opponent, amazingly strong, very good at the job when he cared to be. That he rarely cared meant that others often had to complete his work, but on the whole it was worth it for the break in monotony. Grell's madness cycled in irregular highs and lows, from mania to murder. He was constantly on the edge of violence. His teeth were always sharp and pointed in the Reaper fighting form.

With Grell came another Junior, named William T. Spears. In contrast to the noisy Sutcliff, he was disciplined, meticulous and reserved. With time he would doubtless become compulsive, a common enough pattern. Sutcliff, thrilled to be in a life where deviation from the norm was not a hanging offense, referred to himself as female and pursued the hapless Spears mercilessly. Spears made his disinterest very clear. Slingby thought at first that if Spears actually responded, Grell would run like a deer. However, as time passed slowly, year by weary year, he came to believe that Grell was serious in his attachment to the stern and remote Spears. Spears in turn did his best to keep Sutcliff out of trouble, curbing his outrageousness when possible and covering up his negligence. They formed a rather disturbing and abusive partnership when they achieved Senior rank. Neither seemed to gain any satisfaction from the arrangement.

Spears was an adequate Reaper but his best talents lay elsewhere. He moved naturally towards a desk position, directing those who were better at fieldwork. There was a bit of awkwardness as he learned exactly what kinds of management a senior Reaper of some centuries' standing would tolerate.

Most unfortunately, Spears's abusive interactions with Sutcliff had become automatic. In the early days of his promotion, Spears struck Slingby with his scythe. Slingby backhanded him over a waist-high filing cabinet and into a wall, partly as an automatic response to an attack, partly as a necessary act of training. When Spears stood up, he found Slingby had been joined by a large group of Reapers, all holding their scythes, all regarding him with the same flat, range-finding gaze. Quite a few had advanced to the shark-toothed stage of battle readiness. Once Spears had internalized that non-Grell Reapers required non-Grell respect, things smoothed out a bit.

The days dragged by, repeated endlessly in indistinguishable years. Slingby and his co-workers endured. Some came, some went. Trainees arrived, learned, moved on.

A measles outbreak exceeded the limits of the understaffed London Branch in 1883. Two additional seniors were lost to demons due to exhaustion. Spears found himself back in the field, a most unwelcome development. Shortly thereafter, the Academy graduated a new class. Spears hired four of the graduates and assigned them to mentors.

Slingby came in from Reaping one day and found a brand-new trainee waiting for him. The man leaped to his feet and snapped to attention, as the Academy had drilled into his very marrow. Slingby laid his scythe and jacket on his chair, turned, and examined this new graduate with moderate interest.

"Name?"

"Alan Humphries, sir."

Slingby walked once around Humphries, absorbing all the little details. The bad suit issued to all graduates had been made as tidy as possible. The cheap shoes had been given all the shine they could hold. Bolo tie—not standard, but permissable in the last year of school; confident enough to be a little different in a place which demanded uniformity. Glasses frames modest to the point of invisibility. Physically mid-twenties at most. Right-handed. Small. Lean. Wiry. The Academy's starchy diet had fed him up a bit, but Slingby thought he had been unwell in human life. Anxious but hiding it well.

"At ease, Mr. Humpries. My name is Eric Slingby. Show me your hands." The standard-issue watch would need to be reset twice a day. Shirt cuffs clean but already fraying at the bottom from resting on tables; studious. Nails trimmed short, respectable calluses—this one had taken his combat drills seriously and done extra practice in his spare time.

"Records, Mister Humphries?"

"On your desk, sir."

Slingby opened the folder and removed the contents. Class ranking—well, now. Very high indeed. More important for now, the physical training scores and final combat findings. The instructors reported that Humphries was quick, had an excellent strength-to-weight ratio, maintained a good sense of the position of partners and opponents in a melee, and scored surprisingly well in single combat given that all of his opponents were larger than himself. Promising. Final exam. Hah. Tendency to hesitate, clinical detachment not the best. Not a natural killer, then.

"Your scythe?"

Humphries summoned his slasher at a rest position, then offered it to Slingby. No flashy twirling—that was good, the Academy kids tended towards displays which could give a demon time to strike. One bad habit he wouldn't have to break. "Well, that will correct your lack of reach, won't it? Nice and sharp. We'll begin sparring sessions tomorrow morning. Put it away. I have completed my Reaps for today. We are going to the Cafeteria for my break, after which we will begin the famous piles of paperwork."

Over tea and food, Slingby asked further questions. "Yer small. Were ye bullied, and what came of it?"

Humphries' eyes slid sideways, then back to center as he decided not to gloss over it. Good. Honesty was always good.

"Yes, at first. We were all so confused and frightened, you know? Some wanted any control they could get, even if it was only over their weakest classmates. Of course we were being watched for exactly that behavior. We were warned that if we could not work together we should certainly die alone, and that anyone who had any enemy but demons would be damned. A few did vanish suddenly." Humphries looked sick for a moment.

"And did ye fight back?"

"I just attacked as soon as they started making threats. I could usually get in a good hit while they were talking and another one or two while they got over the surprise. It saved time. I—I think I got a lot of that while I was human, though I've no clear memories—a trained response, maybe?"

"Probably. And?"

"Um, I dodge and block pretty well. Security always showed up before they could damage me too badly. That's how I figured out that we were being monitored. The glasses. Every time a pair hit the floor, Security was there. And recording devices hidden everywhere. Never any question about who was involved, who looked on and did nothing, who struck first and why; they already knew everything. They'd take the bully away. If he returned, he was terrified. Wouldn't say a word about what happened to him while he was gone."

"Good. London does not tolerate a Collections agent who targets his own coworkers. Too few of us as it is. We've seen one or two in other departments. They might get one chance to change their behavior before we arrange an accident. In the interest of public hygiene. Ye do have an unfair advantage in your size, you know."

"What? I mean—how is that, sir?"

"If a bigger man challenges you and wins, he's a bully. If he loses, he's a berk. Anyone you challenge will be larger—win or lose, you're a hero."

Humphries laughed, and the world lit up. Oh, my.