"What are ye doing here, Alan! Ye should not be here!"

Which was just the outside of enough. Alan simply held up the Death List. Eric spluttered to a stop, took a deep breath. "Are ye all right, Alan?"

"Of course I am. I Reaped as any Reaper should, fought as any Reaper would, and returned unharmed just like most of the Reapers did. Does that surprise you?"

"I am not a bit surprised. I am concerned for my partner. Who is covered in sticky steaming red stuff, which I know can't be his, but it's still alarming. You need a shower and a change of clothes."

"Do not try to jolly me."

Eric knew that it was time to retreat to a safer position. "I'm splashed, me Light. Can we port to the showers?"

Alan deflated. A little, but even a little was good. "Yes, of course. I'm burning too. If we hurry I may be able to save this suit."

They used the Mass Transit portal to get to the London Supplies depot and joined a crowd of Reapers in various states of undress. Alan washed off, pulled a bathrobe from the racks, and bagged his suit to be cleaned. Having turned it in, he ported directly home. He was buttoning a fresh shirt when Eric joined him.

"Good, ye're almost healed."

"Rat and bat demons, toxins more in bite than blood. My suit will probably still be wearable if Will doesn't look too closely. Yourself?"

"Trousers should be fine. Gloves are hopeless, not sure about jacket sleeves or vest. But Alan, where did that List come from?"

"It popped into my hands. I assume a Reaper was injured in one of the incursions. Standard emergency reassignment, I think."

"That shouldn't have—" Eric stopped.

Silence.

Alan looked up, and saw, even unto the farthest blade of grass.

"You've arranged this."

"Alan—"

"You've had me benched. Do you think me so weak, then? So unskilled? So cowardly that I would not execute a List assigned to me?" Alan threw on his vest and tie.

"Alan—"

"Would you have me transfer to Admin, as unworthy to hold a Reaper's job? Would you have me become another Pollard, never to leave campus again, to teach what I cannot do, to scold and envy those more skilled? Didn't I just partner Will and keep him safe?" Alan grabbed his jacket.

"Alan, wait—"

"What did you offer Will to demote me to noncombatant? Or did he decide on his own that I can't carry my weight any more? Is that why I am in an administrative Department, locked up in the back of the Branch? Is he only keeping me here to keep you, rather than send us both to some tiny village where even I could Reap?"

"Alan!"

But Alan was gone.

Spears was working on his incident report when Slingby knocked at his door. "Will! Can ye track Alan's glasses?"

Spears looked at the misbuttoned vest, skewed tie, wild eyes, and deduced a personal emergency was in progress. "Not in his office or anywhere on this floor, then?"

"His office is locked. I think he's ported out somewhere. He's not injured, but he's upset and angry. I can't find him, Will!"

"Since you know he's unhurt, perhaps we should let him cool down a bit? Who's he upset with?"

"Meself, mostly, though a wee slice of this pie may become yours."

"He's realized you requested his retirement from Reaping, has he? Grell's been warning me that he'd jump to the wrong conclusions. She said he'd assume that we consider him unfit. You should have explained to him in full. My standing orders to keep him in the Realm and very busy are a part of that, then. How did you get Madame to agree to it?"

"I've been submitting a weekly report on the political news in the human realm. In return, she's agreed to save him from battlefield Reaping."

"Which resulted in keeping him from Reaping at all. But, nevertheless, he was summoned today. I followed him, as is required. He's really very skilled, you know. You shouldn't worry about him so much."

"I cannae lose him, Will." A tiny note of an old madness echoed faintly. Spears heard it and tapped a finger on his desk.

"Let us consider, then. Today a number of unusual things happened. Your partner, though not on active duty, was summoned to Reap. As this was an emergency and not a battlefield, that is understandable.

"He obeyed the call, and as the nearest uncalled Senior I followed to guard his Reaping. We performed our duties—admirably, I might add—and held the entrance to the Number Three mineshaft against attacking demons. We were joined by other Reapers who had finished their assignments and who came to help. Nothing unusual there, of course. The Angels arrived soon after.

"However, during the fight, I distinctly heard a demon point out Humphries as a target. Two of our agents immediately put that demon down. One of those agents was a fifth-year. A very good agent, but still a Junior. Mr. Ten Hagen should not have been there. He bound the demon and rolled him aside. Bound him, Slingby. I detect a new development from Ten Hagen's talented friend in Scythes.

"Humphries has stated in the past that I was marked for demonic attacks. I now believe he was incorrect. The target all along was you; the goal was to incapacitate Humphries. Hell has learned that the scythe-knives came from him. That's common knowledge. Possibly they also know that he encouraged development of the demon detectors, the various uses of portals, and the increasing cooperation between Branches, Divisions and Garrisons. They obviously know about your bond. Your own decreased street time must be driving them mad with frustration.

"From this I infer that Humphries has been marked by Hell for extermination; that Humphries is being protected by some of our younger Reapers, who became aware of the situation before we did, and who felt they had reason not to bring this to us; and that sometime today Judicial will inform me that a demon under questioning has confirmed a plan to remove Humphries at any cost. Do you agree?"

"Aye. Where is he, Will?"

Will paused a moment, eyes losing focus slightly. "He's at the Academy, in the Postgraduate Library. Third floor. South side, stationary, probably reading. He may be researching your bond. Go find him. Tell him the truth, Slingby, all of it. Omit nothing. Apologize. Then get back here. Both of you have collection reports to submit.

"Oh, and Slingby? On your way out, send Ten Hagen to me."

Ten Hagen was working on his quarterly report when Slingby blew by in a godawful hurry. "Junior. Spears wants you in his office." That was no surprise at all; he'd known he was dead when he saw Spears in the mineshaft. He stood, straightened his tie, and turned to face his Seniors. He managed a wry smile. "Sirs, I have been caught in a transgression. Please arrange for my remains to receive a decent burial."

D'Acres raised an eyebrow.

Fitzwilliam tossed down his pen. "I'm coming."

"Senior, this is not necessary."

"You are my apprentice. Your actions are my responsibility and reflect on my teaching abilities. I am both determined and entitled to be part of this discussion. Spears knows he can't shout me down; I was a Senior long before he entered the Academy. I backed up Slingby when Slingby taught him what a manager could not do to anyone but Sutcliff. You will have a fair hearing in my presence."

D'Acres rose. "You will answer his questions, and ours, fully and honestly. To your credit, you are not a good liar. If we bid you to be silent, stop at once and let us speak for you. Afterwards you will tell us everything you did not tell him."

"Thank you, sirs. I have done nothing that would shame you."

"Except for getting caught." Fitzwilliam pulled on his jacket. "We'll talk about that later. Let's go."

Having his Seniors at his back was reassuring. Seeing Director Spears standing behind his desk was still daunting. Ten Hagen went to attention. His Seniors behind him were probably crossing their arms and assuming expressions of mild interest. Spears caught their eyes, gestured to chairs, sat down himself and said "At ease, Junior Ten Hagen. Explain to me what a Reaper of Junior rank was doing at the Pretoria Pit today."

"Sir, I brought supplies to a Reaper of Senior rank and stayed to help defend the passageway."

"What supplies did you bring?"

"Restraints, sir."

"Those were the restraints with which you bound the demon?"

"Yes, sir."

"If I contact Engineer Crawford will I learn that those restraints are an unapproved experiment of Junior Smithfield's?"

"Fishing, Mr. Spears," interposed Fitzwilliam. "Also irrelevant."

"Mr. Fitzwilliam, I do not wish to prosecute Mr. Smithfield. The restraints worked, and I would like to see them added to our supply list. They were Smithfield's make, were they not?"

"You may answer, Junior."

"Yes, sir. Smitty says if the bound demon can be presented to the approval board, the restraints can go into production very quickly."

"Now, Junior Ten Hagen, I would very much like to know why an unnamed Senior wished to bind this demon."

"Sir, it came to an unnamed Senior's notice that Mr. Slingby has experienced demonic attacks far more often than any other Reaper over the last several months. Another unnamed Senior proposed that the underlying purpose was to kill or disable Mr. Humphries through their bond, preventing him from coming up with any further developments like the Angel blade. Therefore we proposed to catch a demon to hand over to Judicial for questioning. We were fortunate to encounter one in the Pretoria Pit who obviously knew of such a plan."

"And you took him down very efficiently, bound him, hid him, and finished the fight. Then what?"

"Sir, when Angels and Reapers had cleared the area, the Demon was turned over to Judicial. About an hour ago."

"Junior Ten Hagen, I agree with you that Humphries is the secondary target of the attacks on Slingby. We have endeavored to protect him by reducing his time in the human realm."

"Permission to express a personal opinion, sirs?"

"Granted, Junior Ten Hagen."

"Agreed," said Fitzwilliam.

"It's damaging Mr. Humphries. Perhaps you've noticed he hasn't been as innovative recently. He is shamed. He feels he's been judged incompetent and exiled into an unnecessary job. He fears he'll be pushed into Admin or the Academy while Mr. Slingby will be assigned a new Reaping partner. He walks alone outside the Realm, because his own partner would insist he stay locked up. Nobody notices, because he goes so many places during his shift. We think that's why he has never taken a personal assistant. He doesn't want to be tracked by a jailer.

"Unnamed Reapers have agreed to keep watch over him, guard him as much as possible when he escapes, but it's difficult as his duties and patterns are so different from ours. Anyone who attends the Thursday Nights at the Scythe and Skull can see the change in him. Personal opinion ended, sirs."

"Your personal opinion is taken under advisement, Junior Ten Hagen. Seniors, do you agree with all or part of this opinion?"

"All," said Fitzwilliam.

"Somewhat understated, actually," said D'Acres. "You are dealing with a depression-prone person who jumps to conclusions. Bad combination when you keep secrets from him. And yes, his production of fresh ideas has slowed. You are doing the demons' job for them. I suggest you stop."

"Another thing," said Fitzwilliam. "Change Slingby's schedule. It's too regular for someone who's being targeted. Everybody and his aunt knows he Sweeps first shift on the same three days every week; the only question is where. Cortland wouldn't allow that unless she was under orders. I'm surprised he's still alive, since you've removed his partner and not assigned another Reaper to back him up."

D'Acres, at his starchiest, fixed Spears with a freezing eye. "Over the last six years Humphries has saved the lives of every Reaper in this Realm ten times over. Many people, not only Reapers, owe him personal debts over and above that. The treatment he has received in return is destroying him. He is entitled to a full explanation. And then all of you, including him, must cooperate to make his life bearable as well as safe."

"Very well, gentlemen. Your opinions will be considered."

"Damn well better be," murmured Fitzwilliam.

"Quite," said D'Acres.

"Junior Ten Hagen, you will confine yourself to the duties permitted a Junior. I leave your discipline to your Mentors. I expect that Judicial will contact me when the demon's interrogation is complete. I will mention Junior Smithfield's request for a presentation of the demon in restraints to Engineering's Device Approval Board. That is all, sirs. Return to your duties."

Back in their office, Ten Hagen fell into his chair. "Ready for burial, sirs."

Fitzwilliam closed the door. "Not yet, you aren't. Talk."

The Academy campus had been rebuilt and redesigned many times since Eric had been a student. His current knowledge of the layout was limited to those areas where he and Alan taught and ate. He had no idea where a Postgraduate Library might be hidden. The Teacher's Lounge provided a professor who gave him directions. He walked down a wide path among trees forever caught in the bright colors of autumn. Someone's dim memory of a day centuries gone.

The Postgraduate Library was one of a group of buildings comprising the Scientific laboratories and advanced education classrooms. Sensible enough. He presented his credentials and won access to a large building which smelled of furniture polish, ink and old paper. Third floor, south side, a long corridor lined with study carrels. Unwindowed with locking doors.

Somewhere here—this one. He knocked gently.

Silence. He waited a moment, tapped again. Alan knew he was here. The anger was still there, but controlled. Eric was in such trouble. A rustle within. The door opened. Alan held three books and a notepad. He stepped out into the hall, nodded toward the staircase, and walked away. Eric followed in silence. Library, after all.

At the front desk Alan checked out his books. They left the building.

"Alan—"

"Not here."

Aye, students everywhere; the campus was a rumor mill. No point in giving Pollard another stick to beat them with.

"Where, then?"

"Home."

"Walls too thin, neighbors on second and third shifts. Human realm?"

"December, wind and rain and wet snow."

Well, that did eliminate pretty much all of the country. Eric gestured to a bench. They sat.

"We're adults. We can do this without shouting. Right?"

"Where's the fun in that?" But Alan's smile was bitter. "Will's old office, now Meeting Room E. Soundproof, door locks, nobody has it signed out for this shift, technically we're in the office, just a little earlier than scheduled."

"Everyone will know."

"Screw them. And you will notice I did not shout that. It's the only privacy we can get, and I want privacy for this."

Alan ported away. Eric gave him a minute to appear in the office and deal with anything urgent, then ported to his own area and hung up his coat. Quietly they handled the little things that had arisen in their absence, then walked to Meeting Room E.

Alan laid his books and papers on the table while Eric closed and locked the door.

"Nice touch," Eric gestured at the papers, "but not going to fool anyone."

"Actually, the books are for you. I ordered these two a while back, had to wait until now for the second to arrive. It's an advanced prepublication proof. This third one is a study of Reaper psychology. Mostly rubbish, but it has a chapter on partnership bonds. I've taken extensive notes in case you've questions after the book's due back at the Library. Extended loan, three weeks. Please don't forget. You'll get me in trouble with the librarians."

Alan disconnected the telephone. "We won't be interrupted. Now. Shouting. Your turn. I've already had my first go." He sat down at the table and folded his hands over his notes.

Eric slammed his fists down and leaned across the table. "Shouting. Right. You are being an absolute brat. Hell wants your hide nailed to its gates. Will and I are doing our best to keep you alive, and you're pouting like a child sent to his room for stealing cookies. You know the demons want your blood in screw-top bottles and you still sneak out alone into areas you know full well are dangerous. You have a golden opportunity to do Hell more damage than any fifty scythe-swingers, and you're neglecting it to duck out and drop your trews at the imps watching for ye. Any idiot can Reap! Haven't we taught a wretched regiment of them? You can do something far rarer and more valuable. You can think, ye silly bairn, and teach, and that is what the Realm needs of you, and what the Highest wants! Drop yer sulks and do yer job, which is to save the lives of all around ye!" Eric stood straight, pulled out a chair, sat down. "Your turn."

Alan remained seated. He looked past Eric at the wall. "You denied me choice," he said quietly. "You demoted me to a puppet. You knew I did not understand. All I asked was honesty. All you had to do was explain. You denied me the few rights allowed a Reaper. Your protection became enslavement. You welcomed duties which kept us apart, so you could be free. You asked for trust where you gave none. You let me believe I was considered incompetent to Reap. It drove me to despair and shamed me before my friends. You drew on the bond to weaken me. You jailed me so tightly I could not breathe, and wondered why I slipped away from an office that keeps me under constant watch in case I collapse again. Every year brought a new restriction. I applied for transfer and was denied. I have reached the point where I must break away, even if it means I leave the Realm forever. If I cannot trust you because you will not trust me, there is nothing to keep me here. Your turn."

"I think I'm done, thanks."

They sat in silence for a moment. Then both rushed to speak.

"I'm sorry, Eric. I can't endure it."

"Alan, please, I'm sorry. I wanted to keep you out of the battlefields to come. I have served there. I do not ever want you to do that. I asked Eliza to keep you in a position which would spare you as long as possible."

"Eliza?"

"Madame Administrator. We were in the Academy together."

"Oh, my. You've known her for four hundred years?"

"Aye. She moved into Auditing a century ago. She lost a partner due to an Administrative stupidity. Too smart for a Reaper, really. But determined to serve, just like you.

"We made a deal. I scan the newspapers and report. She keeps you where you can produce the wonders only you can think up. You are one of our best Reapers, but the other work you do is far more important than Reaping. The Blades have saved so many; the portals; the cooperation, the tracking, the Thursday nights where ideas are shared. The students you teach and recommend to the Divisions. This was not a demotion, Alan. You are widely respected for all these things. I should have told you all this. I knew you would refuse. I was afraid you would leave rather than agree to our plans. You are being protected, not imprisoned. We never meant to shame you. Please, my Light. Forgive me. Stay with me."

"Something must change. I cannot bear this confinement."

"It is not confinement. It is reassignment and concealment."

"Eric, here's a question for a crofter; how many legs does a sheep have if you call the tail a leg?"

"What? Five."

"Wrong. Four. Calling the tail a leg does not make it one. Call this what you like. It's intolerable."

"Hell is hunting you, Alan, the demons know that you provided the Blades. They've been hunting me in hopes of killing us both through the bond."

"They've been hunting you? Not Will, but you? All this time?"

"Aye. It's one of the reasons I'm assigned to Ops now. Less exposure. Just like you. If it's any consolation, I too am having trouble adjusting."

"But they've given you a predictable Sweep schedule. That's stupid. Are they trying to set you up?"

"No. Actually I think they are trying to keep me amused. The demons go spare trying to find me. When they do, I lead them a merry chase. While we're off tearing around the roofs and alleys, everyone else gets a rest."

"If I could go with you—"

"Alan, there was a demon in the mine today who pointed you out and called for your death. Spears heard him. You should have, too."

"I heard—but I thought Will was the target."

"Did you see what happened to the demon?"

"No. I was busy at the moment."

"Harmon and Ten Hagen took him down neat as you please, tied him up with restraints that kept him from porting, and tucked him away in the dark. They gave him to Judicial for questioning. Oh, and the restraints? Seem to be a side project from that intern you introduced to Scythes six years ago. You know, the one whose friend you took to Spectacles because he could barely see? Alan, me love, don't you see that the help you gave to Smitty and Dutch are as vital to the Realm as Reaping?

"Listen, me Light, what if we asked your scientific protégés for a miniature beach portal? Something to take us somewhere they wouldn't think to look for us? Or would one of the War Room spares do that? They're just for communication, though, right?"

"So we could both escape together on Sunday afternoons? To remote areas, peaceful and pleasant?" Alan looked thoughtful. "Possibly a treat for any Reaper fed up with the job. Maybe consult with foreign Reapers for nice locations. I've been visiting Kew Gardens too often for safety, though I never stay more than an hour. But you are trying to distract me again."

Alan pushed the smallest book across the table. "This book—be sure and read the chapter on bonds. There'll be a pop quiz later."

"I will. And these other two books?"

"Those are for your reports to Will. And Madame. New publications from the human realm. They are pretty scary, in opposite ways, and I am afraid they may mean the first catastrophe is closer than we thought. One's from England. It's a fat and happy denial that countries will ever enter into conflict again. The other's from Germany. It's an open call to war, defining it as a biological imperative. You're the better forecaster. Please tell me your opinion, because it will affect the next Budget."

"These are also Library copies?"

"Oh, yes. You won't want to read these more than once."

"Am I forgiven, me Light?"

"No. None of you are. My position is unbearable, regardless of the pretty words you use to disguise it. Nobody gets forgiven until things change. Until you all are honest with me."

"One thing will not change. We owe Will our collection forms, plus an action report. Still want to resume Reaping?"

Alan emitted a sound which might have been a laugh.

Eric's books:
The Great Illusion [1910] by Norman Angell...which proved that war had become vain. By impressive examples and incontrovertible argument Angell showed that in the present financial and economic interdependence of nations, the victor would suffer equally with the vanquished; therefore war had become unprofitable; therefore no nation would be so foolish as to start one.

General von Bernhardi... Germany and the Next War [1911] ...which was to be as influential as Angell's but from the opposite point of view. Three of its chapter titles, "The Right to Make War," "The Duty to Make War," and "World Power or Downfall" sum up its thesis. —from The Guns of August, Barbara W. Tuchman, pp.68.7 & 70.5 (ebook version)