Eric had agreed to meet Alan for lunch in the Academy cafeteria after he'd cleaned up from combat training. Somebody had run tattling to Academician Pollard about Alan entering a classroom inappropriately, once in his gym garb all over blood and dirt, and again in proper clothing but still in battle mode. There's always a snitch, just as there is always a Pollard. If the snitch graduates, make a note to send him to an office which will not tolerate it. Pollard had come bustling and fussing and fuming across the Cafeteria, getting almost three-quarters of the way before he bounced off Eric. He stumbled and fell.

"Oops," said Eric, upturning his tray carefully over the Academician. "Well, it's not like they ever manage to serve it hot, do they? Ye should look where yer going, Mr. Pollard. Let me help you up." Seizing Pollard by the upper arms, Eric pulled him to his feet and shook him gently to spread the soup and porridge evenly down his front. "Better run off and get changed before somebody calls attention to the state of yer clothing, aye?"

"You uncouth brute! You Scottish barbarian! How dare you!"

"I dare because I know the whole story," said Eric very softly. "So listen, and learn. Alan participated in the rescue efforts today, which I know you did not. If ye badger him for that now, and if you bring this up to the Board later, I will testify and so will the Director of London. You will be shamed as a jealous, cowardly, nagging prig. They are getting tired of your endless hectoring over trivia, you know. Would ye like to duel me, Mr. Pollard? I can lend ye a scythe if ye haven't one. Because if ye vent yer petty spite on Alan or on our students, I will meet you on the field ye so despise. Even if I have to drag ye there by the collar and drag yer dismembered body back in a sack."

Pollard retreated quickly, dripping. Eric turned around and checked on Alan, who had missed the entire encounter. Good. Eric signaled for a cleanup and went back to the food line. Another bowl of soup, another flotch of gluey porridge, a cup of weak tea. Academy fare was not the least of the reasons for students to compete for internships off-campus.

Alan, waiting for his partner, pushed his food around his plate a bit. The newly awakened had some physical sensitivities at first. Their food had to be bland and tepid until things stabilized. The school cooked to that standard because it was cheap and easy. It also motivated upperclassmen to graduate and find employment where one could at least get a decent meal.

So. Hell had decided to have a go at the plugged-up Hellmouth. Why? To kill students, who were largely helpless, before they could become competent Reapers? To thin the future numbers of their opponents in the coming troubles? The Academy's defenses had depended on its location. Before Research had opened the portal, the area was inaccessible to Hell. What had been done once could be done again; would be done again. The Academy's defenders were himself and Eric three days a week, Eric's two teaching assistants, and a few other drillmasters who were only a little better than their students. Academy Security were not up to battle standards either. The Academicians were going to have to think about that. So would the Angels, even if only out of embarrassment.

Not his business. The Academy would have a wonderful time rebuilding and demanding reparations, demon detectors, angelic protection.

But why today? Was it because Will was there? His presence was certainly no secret among Reapers. How would demons know? And the attack on Artois earlier. Was the target actually Will? As Roberts had said, how did they know about that meeting? Alan lifted a spoonful of oatmeal, let it fall with a gooey plop.

Hell's Ravenings were not successful in London's human-realm territory. The most recent defense developments had all started in the London Branch, then spread rapidly to the rest of the country. And Will had organized the responses to the Ravenings on Midsummer's Eve. Was Hell blaming their troubles on the London Director? It made sense they'd want him dead before he got any better at it, before he launched more innovations, before he could teach others or become a commanding general.

How did they know where and when to strike?

Eric sat down with a tray of bland tepid ugh. "Eric, would you like to go back to the office? I need to talk to you and Will. We could get some real food afterwards."

"A moment, me Light. I'm being calm and peaceful at me audience. Perfect picture of harmless, that's me. Innocence personified."

"Eric. What did you do."

"Nothing worthy of comment. What do ye need to talk about?"

Alan sighed. "You've done something I'm going to regret, to someone I'm going to have to appease. Okay. Listen. You need to stick close to Will any time he leaves the Branch on business. Use the 'bodyguard' clause in your job description. I think he's being targeted as a future threat to Hell's plans. I also think we have a person on our grapevine who is selling information. Just be aware, please?"

"Ah." Eric stirred his soup, which improved it not at all. "Major Artois was not the target of that little dustup, you think?"

"No. They came after you, because you were between them and Will. They've had major losses on his watch."

Eric looked at him sharply. "And how do ye know how that fight went? Ye were there, weren't ye? What were ye doing out of the office and on the street?"

"I escaped. I took your sweep shift because I could not endure sitting at my desk one more minute. Lecture me later. This is important. Wear your vest, fill it with knives, and yes, you're right, Will's rusty. Set him up to spar with Chandra Gupta and maybe Iris if she's good enough; close-in weapons. Also Fitzwilliam and Sykes. Tell Knox to teach him knife fighting, and make Will carry his Angel blade. The extra workouts may lessen his frustration rants. Get him to field readiness and keep him there."

"I can try. Mind ye, his whole nature is to keep people at a distance. It's a deep-seated personal preference. He clings to his pruner even in situations where it's ineffective. Getting him to banish it, draw a knife and move close to an opponent will require a great deal of work."

"Maybe start with something like a machete or Iris' billhook? A secondary scythe, longer than a knife but still effective one-on-one?"

"A good thought. More acceptable to him at first. Then move him to short knives for melees or tight spaces. Right, everybody's forgotten me now. Let's go find some real food."

Will's next appointment in the Human realm was arranged entirely behind closed doors. No attack followed. Another, two days later and secretly scheduled, also passed without incident. Eric proclaimed himself bored. Alan, very unhappy about the implications, said nothing. He said it so eloquently that Will called them both into his office.

"Humphries, you are in a monumental swivet. What is wrong? Slingby, are you the cause of this?"

"Ach, no, not this time, I don't think. Alan, what is it? I swear I never touched Pollard with anything but soup. And oatmeal."

"Shall we return to the subject? What's fretting you, Humphries?"

"You weren't attacked on your last two excursions, Will."

"Indeed. Most restful."

"Will, we have somebody passing on information. By keeping your schedule hidden, we stopped those attacks. Maybe somebody's just a thoughtless gossip. I hate to think that any of our people would collaborate with Hell. I'm very afraid that if the possibility becomes common knowledge, many may assume it's Grell because she once had a fling with the Phantomhive demon. But she knew about your last two outings, didn't she, and nothing happened."

"Yes. I told her, as anyone would tell one's partner of a change in schedule."

"Then she is cleared, as we can attest to her silence."

"If anyone is being targeted, it's Artois. They get to him most easily when he leaves the Divine Realm."

"I don't think so. They'd send demons of far higher rank and power if they intended to take him down, and when he left the scene so would they. They're after you, and after Eric if he's defending you. Demon detectors, joint Monitoring systems, inter-realm cooperation and scythe-knives have all originated in London over the last four years. They want to stop these inconvenient developments. They also probably want to remove a potential commander of troops."

"An interesting theory, but unproven. The immediate problem is the traitor in our midst. I have not encountered this before. Even in her worst madnesses, Grell never sold our secrets."

Quite true, Alan reflected sadly. She had given Alan's secrets to a demon, but not the Realm's, and not for payment.

"For now," continued Will, "let us keep our outside commitments confidential. If the information continues to be unavailable, the traitor may give himself away by prying."

"That's good," said Alan. "In the meantime, Will, please lock your desk and door. Keep your calendar hidden. Eric, you too. As will I. At least we can cause frustration. Perhaps it's just chitchat spread in pubs, but if someone is caught trying to open locks we'll have evidence of deliberate treachery."

Will continued to meet with Major Artois and other officials of similar rank. The lunches were irregularly scheduled and the locations constantly changed. No ambushes followed.

Eric made a new habit of strolling through Operations, looking for visitors chatting up the clerks. He spent a little friendly time with each of the staff on all shifts, citing his responsibility to understand all the processes. He learned a number of interesting tweaks, sidesteps and alliances which made the business run more smoothly. He learned that nobody was disaffected, and that Alan was much esteemed.

He learned which cabinets, desks and drawers were kept locked. He made a note of those locks that showed scratches. He spoke to Section Manager Brock, who told him of the extra copies of old, incriminating Admin contracts, which had been kept expressly for Admin to try to retrieve. Together they reviewed the various storage spots. Many showed signs of tampering, but some of the scratched locks were on drawers and cabinets installed more recently. Yes, somebody was looking for information, and had been for long enough to rule out the interns and temps. Brock, infuriated, started the paperwork to change all the locks in the Department. His aides were assigned to move the unused sensitive materials down into Operations' private Stacks in Administration, and to store those in daily use where they would be under constant surveillance when not locked up.

Eric suggested to Alan that Operations' third shift was understaffed; perhaps a few more interns to lighten the load? There was always an increase in Reaps in the middle of the graveyard shift. The incoming paperwork often piled up and extended into first shift. Alan agreed at once, and third shift became too well-populated for anyone to pry unnoticed.

Eric came to the conclusion that the spy worked outside the Department, was present if not on duty during third shift, and was probably getting fairly frustrated by the increase in security. If he or she was just passing interesting tidbits along to chums, the snooping might have ended. If he or she was being blackmailed or paid, there would be another attempt soon. Eric began checking the locks daily. So did Brock.

In late May, Senior Agent Werther moved into Senior housing, along with all his year-mates who were promoted. Mitch Sorenson (Reaper-fifth year) succeeded him as First Resident. Knowing a good thing when he saw it, he extended the message board and replaced the candy jar that Werther had taken with him. The common room continued to be a comfortable place for study and socializing. He joined the Thursday Nighters at the Scythe and Skull, as it allowed him to keep up friendships with those who had moved out. He liked Slingby and Humphries, and owed them in various ways from his earlier years. He became familiar with a number of Scientific, Admin and Supplies folks he would not otherwise have met. He rather thought the Academy should teach how the entire Realm interacted to form a functioning whole. He mentioned it to Humphries, who thought it a fine idea. They had a fascinating discussion on how to squeeze it into the Ethics lesson plans. Sorenson began to encourage cross-division friendships and discussions in the common room.

"It's not always horrible, Tony, the Reaping, you know." Iris Quirke (Reaper-fourth) was trying to help Antonia Asaro (Reaper-first) through a difficult assignment. "Many souls will greet you as a liberator when you come to release them. There's no stone-and-iron prison stronger or crueler than old age and poverty."

"We free many from pain and illness. We spare some of them worse fates. Hold on to that," said Adam Roberts (Reaper-fourth) softly. "Remember Instructor Humphries' Ethics lectures. If some humans do terrible things, that is their choice to make. They will face the consequences of their choices, just as we did."

Off to the left, one resident conducted market research. "We've stolen some human communications tech from forward, portable devices called handie-talkies," said Donnie Cole (Research-fifth) to a group of Reapers. "Clunky and heavy but lets you talk with others over distance. Would you be willing to carry one per pair or triad, even though it might be a real nuisance in a fight? Or is it only really usable for larger groups where one Reaper can be spared to carry it?"

"If it interferes with hand-to-hand fighting, it's gonna get us killed. You'd need a protected person in a squad of Reapers, not just a team. Maybe two sets of Seniors working on demon sweeps? But what's the point if their detectors have already signaled for help? I think it might be useful to coordinate group strikes on demons if we were defending teams doing battlefield Reaping, though. Mr. Slingby says it's coming. Try to make it as small and durable as possible."

Nearby, ideas and information were exchanged. "I was in the tent with Mr. Spears during the Midsummer Ravenings last year," said Samuel Terry (Reaper-third) to Lesleigh Franklin (Research-fifth). "Mr. Humphries stepped through the Beach portal into the London Lab and then came back. Look, if we needed to move a group of casualties or a fighting team somewhere really fast and it was too far for one-stop porting, how many could a portal like that handle safely? Earlier in the day I figure at least five or six at a time used it to go swimming. Or is it two portals, one at each end of the trip? No, because we only had the one in the tent...but of course the Lab would have one, right, Les? Could a portal be—um, more portable?"

"You know, portals could have some real advantages for us," said Frances Ferris (Supplies-fifth). "Big orders or perishables could move much more quickly without exhausting the delivery teams. One of our most annoying bottlenecks is multiple-jump porting between production and destination. But in combat situations, you have to remember that portals go both ways. You'd have to be ready to defend against unexpected unfriendly intrusions, or be willing to slam it shut leaving your people stranded on the other side. Your delivery staff has to be experienced enough to find its own way home. No green trainees."

"Combat? Supplies goes into combat?" asked Terry.

"You bet your sweet scythe we do. We're not just a string of self-contained Branches. Supplies delivers all over the human realm. Never a day when there isn't war somewhere, with humans killing each other off in wholesale lots, Reapers trying to keep up, and demons cruising for missed souls. We supply the field kitchens and medical outposts. Technically we're protected by the Reapers taking the delivery, with angels taking up the slack. In actuality, if they're too busy we're on our own. The angels are getting better about it lately."

"So Supplies carries scythes?"

"Graduated, didn't we? There's a basic standard sickle available to all support-services personnel. Good enough to let us port in and out with crates of goods. Those of us who regularly enter the war zones are carrying Angel blades now, just using the pretty end to ward off attacks."

"So if you aren't reaping with them, what if the scythe-metal was encased in a handle as a porting device, and the sickle blade was angelfire?"

"I'd sell my Senior for one of those. Well, somebody else's Senior. Hey, Smitty. Got a question for your Senior Engineer."

Edward Smithfield (Scythes-third) replied, "I heard and I'll ask. But Frannie, did you know Scientific's got an automotive division now? What if you could load up a truck and drive it through a portal, maybe with passengers to help unload and defend if necessary?"

"Oh, I like that idea. Who do I talk to in, ah, Automotive, is it?"

"Just call Engineering, ask the operator for Gustav in Automotive. He'll be happy to talk. Their main problem was a reliable engine and drive train, which they've just finished and registered. They'd love you to field-test it. Then you need a big portal. Les and Donnie can help you there."

"I wonder what happens to anything caught inside a portal when it closes?" mused Franklin to Donnie.

"Doesn't have an inside, just two outsides, I think," said Cole. "Something to experiment with. Carefully. I'd hate to lose Instructor Humphries halfway."

"You'd better not," said ffoulkes (Reaper-second). "He's important. Every time he gets that pensive look, good things happen to everybody."

Everyone was looking forward to Midsummer's Eve. "This year we're going to open a portal to Calais so the Reapers on the other side of the Channel can visit the Gather," said Gather Master Stephen Holbert (Admin-third) to a group of mixed Juniors. "We'll still have the beach portal, don't worry. Different beach, though, last year's venue got greedy and demanded a stiff rent. They seem to have forgotten that they aren't the only sand on the coastline. They can throw their own party. Lots of other pretty islands stepped right up to volunteer. What other destinations would you like to see next year? Historical monuments, natural wonders, museums, maybe a matinée at a famous theatre or opera house?"

"We think we're getting an idea of how angelfire is bound to the Angel blades. Not that we'd be allowed to use it," said Smitty to Diederik Ten Hagen (Reaper-third). "But maybe someday we can bind another force to scythe metal, something specific to Reapers. Perhaps the wind, as in the Verse of the Grass. You're a Reaper, Dutch. How would you use something like that to make your job easier or safer?"

"Stop right there. You need somebody with a grounding in theology and weapons laws before you even begin. Remember Judicial. Hey, Fred?" Frederic Brock (Admin-fourth) cocked an eyebrow. "Can you ask Senior Depoy if her Auditing classes cover that sort of thing yet? She might know somebody who knows somebody. For now, Smitty, just add a pizza cutter to the scythe-knife hafts instead."

"Please. You'd get cheese in the works. You'd never get it out. Your Reaps would all arrive for Judgement smelling like pepperoni. A screwdriver would be better. If the cinematic records won't release, you unscrew the Reap's navel until his arse falls off. The records are then freed—Hey!"

As Smitty was pelted with hard candies and crumpled worksheets, it occurred to Sorenson that he was going to miss all this next year. He wondered if Cortland and Onayemi had a similar group in Senior Housing, or whether the old atmosphere of silent misery persisted. Indeed, Werther might already be setting up a gossip colony with the other new Seniors. He'd have to ask. If not, maybe he could arrange his schedule to keep Thursday nights free for Humphries' gathering at the Scythe and Skull, or maybe start his own on another slow night. Tuesday, maybe.

October 1908; Alan's maps and Eric's newspapers

Behind closed doors, Eric sat with newspapers and Alan's map collection. He'd removed his jacket and gloves and rolled up his sleeves. Printers' ink smudged everything. Also, Alan was most appreciative of Eric in vest and rolled-up shirtsleeves.

"This map's outdated, me Light. This little area is now part of this bigger one here, and this one should be its own color. See, the Ottoman Empire is in revolt, too busy with internal problems to defend its borders. This country here, Bulgaria, just declared independence from the Ottoman Empire without getting squashed for it, a clear sign of weakness and maybe a protection promise from Russia. Over here, the Austro-Hungarian Empire is expanding. They've just snipped Bosnia and Herzegovina away. Other major powers are unhappy and a little jealous. This whole area here is called the Balkans. Too many people, too little arable land. Lots of small ethnic populations with religious differences, old grudges and ambitious military leaders, surrounded by greedy larger powers in a precarious political balance. That balance is now eroding. I think the coming troubles might start in this area."

Alan leaned over his shoulder. "Thanks. When did all this happen?"

"A week ago."

"I'll call Supplies. They're probably already printing corrections. You'd like Senior Vollmer, I'll introduce you if he shows up on Thursday. What do you think will happen next?"

"A period of adjustment and negotiation. Serbia, here, Serbia wanted Bosnia and Herzegovina for itself. They're really unhappy that Austria-Hungary got there first with a bigger army. They might ally with Bulgaria to expand south into Macedonia. Bulgaria's aligned with Russia, which brings another army into play. Austro-Hungary is aligned with Germany, here, which is building big battleships to challenge Britain on the seas. I think they'll all step back for a bit until the international indignation settles, then start up again. But it's a wholly uneducated guess, me Light. The Academy's new dormitories are much larger than the ones they lost. All I can really say for sure is that it's going to be bad for a long time."

"June's graduating class was over a thousand Reapers, wasn't it? Reapers, not counting graduates moving into other divisions? They'll be Seniors in June of 1913. You've two assistants keeping your files now. My classes are so large I'm teaching in the auditorium, with students in additional rooms watching through portals. Thank heavens for microphones. They want me to pick up more lectures but I just don't have time; there will be new instructors hired, and more assistants to do the grading. And still more students. All our original teaching assistants are now professors or instructors. I don't think the new dorms are too big. I think they will be barely big enough. Too many. What horror is going to need that many Reapers? This island's too small to hold it. Foreign service..."

"Alan, are ye all right?"

"No. Give me a moment."

Eric stood and pulled his partner into his arms. Alan trembled, then steadied. He gave Eric a quick, hard embrace, then stepped back and looked up at his partner. "Either overtime will never be known again, or we will be called to foreign battlefields of enormous destruction. And then something even worse will happen. We have to push for greater interaction with Reapers across the Channel. We can't wait until the war starts to make alliances and friendships. Cooperation. All Reaping souls together. Gather them in, keep them safe. Fight off the demons.

"We can do it, will do it. That's our job. Our purpose, our punishment. But we will have new strategies and equipment, better training, and we have the angels because Azrael's eye is on them. He will not tolerate them leaving us to die and letting the souls be lost. Our students, our friends, we ourselves at least have a chance to survive."