Madame Administrator looked at the three Reapers she had summoned to her august presence.
Mr. William T. Spears, who was using his sternest mode to hide curiosity;
Mr. Eric Slingby, using his blankest face to hide panic;
Mr. Alan Humphries, anger tightly controlled, humming with potential mayhem like a hornet's nest on a hot summer's day.
Madame picked up an official report on the Garrison's letterhead. "Sirs. I would like to share with you some details of the Angels' questioning of a demon captured at the site of today's mass Reaping."
Spears allowed himself to evince a proper interest. Slingby stiffened like a hunting dog scenting its prey. Humphries' gaze sharpened.
"The demon is one of middle rank. Its knowledge is less than we hoped, more than we feared. You, Mr. Humphries, have been declared a nuisance by the Lowest. The current order is to capture you for eternal punishment, or if that is not possible, to slay you as soon as possible. This suggests that your current destination upon demise would not automatically be Hell, but a reincarnation fairly low on the food chain. Either fate would cost us your future services, which we are unwilling to lose. A similar order for Mr. Slingby calls for his death as a way to incapacitate you.
"The demon believes that information about your activities was sold to Hell by a resident of the Reaper Realm, who was promised preferential treatment in return. The demon believes the motivation was hatred strong enough to blind the seller to the inevitable consequences of such a bargain.
"The demon also verifies that the attack at the academy was in response to information that the three of you would be together in a relatively undefended area." Madame set aside the Garrison report and picked up another.
"Judicial reports a series of poison-pen letters accusing you of various infractions. Those mostly involved Branch business, although two accused you of misdeeds at the Academy. They also have a number of requests from Research. These demanded control of your person for a study of the long-term effects of the Thorns, an obvious ruse since the Thorns are completely gone. The names of the Researchers who filed those requests are being followed up by Auditing, who have already ruled on that matter." She turned to another page.
"Maintenance was asked to provide oversight of the Branch offices recently. They report that they have not yet found any drafts of such letters in London's wastebaskets, nor overheard any conversation against you. This request for oversight came from some fairly young Seniors of various Divisions and was reported to me as is required, but Maintenance believes they owe you protection, sir. Something about being invited to attend the Gather as guests as well as staff."
Madame laid the last page on the neat stack beside her. "Mister Slingby. You asked that your partner be kept from battlefield Reaping. I agreed, because we needed the foresight you offered in return. Over time he has proven himself so valuable as a planner, thinker and teacher, that we cannot spare him for Collections. I did not realize he would see these new duties as a demotion. Neither did you, although you live and work with him. You will stay after this meeting, sir. We have things to discuss."
Slingby paled slightly. Humphries lost some of his defiance and began to look worried.
"Mr. Humphries, I apologize for this misunderstanding. We in no way think the less of you or your talents. It is vital to our survival that you continue your efforts to prepare the Realm for the future. Be aware, sir. Our demon stated that the Ravenings began as the result of a large increase in demonic population. They are hungry, sir, and this is Hell's response to the same future disasters which have increased the numbers of students at the Academy. The Ravenings will continue in those areas of the human realm least able to resist.
"Your duty is to continue the upgrades to all Reaper Branches; to call attention to those Garrisons lax in their duties; to teach and inspire those who will create future defenses and strategies. You are to cease endangering yourself. Are you equal to this duty, or shall we find another to perform it?"
"Madame, I believe myself equal to this duty." Humphries' voice was soft but strong. Good. The man was more concerned for his partner than caught up in his stubbornness.
"Mr. Spears. Please allow Mr. Humphries more time for these duties. You may transfer some of his less important responsibilities to the additional staff requested in the current Budget." Humphries blushed slightly; obviously he'd been planning to free himself from some of the busywork Spears had used to keep him in the office. "Mr. Humphries, may I assume that these tasks will no longer be necessary to keep you from leaving the Reaper Realm unescorted?"
"You may, Madame."
"Do not disappoint me in this, sir. Return to your office and think. Mr. Spears, you and Mr. Humphries are excused. Please close the door on your way out."
In the outer hall, Alan paused. Will waved him on. "She won't kill him. It may take him a day or two to get over it, however. Have you turned in your Collection and Incident reports?"
"Yes, and made him finish his as well. She's scary. You sure he'll be okay?"
"She will not damage him enough to affect his performance of his duties. Come along. He'll want a moment to himself when she's done with him. I've been on Madame's carpet myself. Not a good place to be for any reason."
They walked down the hall in silence. Then, "Listen, Will, London's mostly a lot of younger Reapers who've never seen battlefields. Do you think we should ask for guest lecturers from France and Russia who covered Napoleon's invasion and retreat from Moscow? Was anybody here involved in the Crimean War? Anglo-Zulu War? Anglo-Boer War? Anglo-Anybody?"
"Gerritt Vanderveldt, First and Second Boer War. Chandra Gupta, Second Boer War as Vanderveldt's partner. Jacobs, Crimean War. I don't think Fairbairn was here then. Before that, ask Slingby. He's followed British soldiers into any number of wars, domestic and foreign. I've always been stationed in London, and only for a little more than a century. So many of our Reapers are either newer than that, or new transfers since you apprenticed here. Slingby is Personnel, after all. Tell him to search the records. Don't let him make you do it. He has his own assistant."
They were silent again, waiting for the elevator. When it came, they entered. Will pushed a button for the long descent.
"Will—" a tone of desperation.
"Humphries. This is an order. Ask Medical to recommend a couple of convalescent Seniors near the end of their medical leave. Reapers. Not Admins. They should be capable and bored and eager to get off half-pay. Offer them a stipend sufficient to bring them up to base pay. Enter them into the books as temporary personal assistants, as a prelude to their return to active duty. They are to provide escort on your daily rounds. Make sure Monitoring knows they are here and are tracking their glasses. Demonic detectors and Angel blades on all three of you. When you must escape, take them along. Sit them down where they can rest, if they need it. Wander as you will as long as you stay in their line of sight. Request a portal for your office with some preset destinations. Good for them and for you. Replace them as needed. Overlap them by at least a week so that they can train their successors. Not your job to be forever breaking in new ones."
Alan brightened. Spears watched as that thoughtful expression returned. Planning in progress. He'd better talk this over with Grell. Best be warned what Humphries might come up with. Will hated surprises. But he'd managed to insert a couple of additional seasoned fighters into Operations, in case there ever was an invasion.
Will found Grell preparing to leave for the day. As she locked up her desk against their unknown sneak, Will asked if she would like a takeout supper to eat at home. This had become a private signal of I need your advice where no one can hear. "That sounds lovely, Will. I don't feel like cooking either." They walked back to Will's new office, deep in the secured area of Operations, closed the door. Grell sat down in one of the chairs—one of the comfortable ones, reserved for the rare Reapers not in trouble—and stretched her arms above her head for a moment. "Tell me all, dearest. Will Alan behave now, do you think?"
"That is my question for you, Grell." Will related all that had happened in Madame's office. When he had finished, Grell thought a moment. She giggled.
"Well. She played right to Alan's greatest priorities, didn't she? His duty, his dignity and his lover? Oh, nicely done. And your instructions to hire assistants? Masterful. Supporting injured, unhappy Reapers, getting them off half-pay until they are ready for active duty; right up his alley. And he won't run away from them because he won't want to get them in trouble. The true beauty of it, you clever man, even if you never thought of it, is that Eric is going to have little flashes of jealousy. He'll know it's unfounded, and he'll be ashamed of it, but he'll treat Alan a little better as a result. Little kindnesses. Maybe, just maybe, fewer half-truths or lies of omission. As for what Alan might be planning? I don't care to speculate, dear, on so little information. Be brave. It might be an Outrage Will project, or just something very quiet with long-range benefits."
Once Eliza—"Madame to you, Slingby, until you start behaving like an adult,"—had finished with him, Eric had been utterly useless for patrol. Alan was off somewhere on his own business. Eric was grateful. He was dreading the Four Stages of Doom: the Narrowed Eyes, the Crossed Arms, and the ominous Tapping of the Foot, followed by the always-difficult Explaining. Not that Alan would start that progression in public, but there was always Meeting Room E. He asked Garraway to take his scheduled sweep. He retrieved the books that Alan had requested for him and took them into his office to read.
The chapter on bonds was terrifying. Had he really been pulling on Alan's strength to keep him controlled? Yes, he had; was still doing it; after a bit of practice he managed to end that constant low-level draw. The important and difficult trick was to do so without closing off the link completely, which would have panicked both of them and made balancing impossible. He felt the flow turn back toward Alan. Alan was tired but not angry. That was good.
Eric had then skimmed the two books from the human realm. One was from England and one from Germany. Both were in flagrant violation of the Being Bloody Stupid Act of 1581. Alan would be upset if he bounced them both off the wall into the trash, as they were library books to be returned in the same condition as when issued. Eric held them, tapping their spines with a finger. Artois was still a little cool towards Alan, probably miffed about the use he was making of tech that the Angels considered forbidden to Reapers. But there were other ways into the Garrison. He called Color-Sergeant Bourne.
"Frank, it's Eric. I have two books here that Alan would give your Major if they were more comfortable with each other. Can I pass them to you? They are both library copies, so I'll need them back in two weeks. We need to get them talking again, more than just passing alerts along. I know he's busy...did you ever get rid of the officer who was giving him the pip?...Excellent. Who won the pool?...Congratulations...Look, Alan's been thinking again. I'll push him to share his thoughts...Scythe and Skull is good."
Alan showed up again in late afternoon. "I've been talking to Medical. Will's ordered me to take on a couple of babysitters, convalescents on half-pay. I'll want two in reasonably good shape, not from London. Medical will send candidates to you as chief of Personnel. I've promised not to endanger them." Alan's color was a little better. His eyes held a spark of mischief. "Didn't promise not to educate them." He sat down. "You did something with the bond. Or stopped doing something. I feel better. We're going to have to talk about this tonight. What do you want for supper?"
"Come with me to the Scythe and Skull, where I will pass your library books to Frank Bourne for transport to Major Artois. Tell him your worries. We can eat there or anywhere else you like."
"That's good, he really needs to be aware of how crazy some humans are getting. Tell me, Eric. How long?"
"Och, it's hard. I think our best clue is still the class sizes at the Academy. Maybe three, four years. Then a second disaster in another four years. Something else in Russia, in ten years or so. Civil war there, probably, a very bad one if their Academy's expanding the way your sources tell you."
"Three or four years... We need to get as many apprentices as we can train. Maybe it's time to start posting lists of all partnerships eligible to teach come June, tell them to look over the interns. Sorry. Don't mean to step on your responsibilities."
"There are a few I need to start prodding, it's true. We have one senior team who are disqualified. Anders and Brandon can't reap, and Madame banned them from teaching. Quite right, too. She considers them freeloaders. They're performing a needed service, though, and anyone else doing that duty full-time would be likewise disqualified. We should stick a couple of Admins in their jobs and replace them with a Reaping team with teaching experience. We have a waiting list of transfer applicants."
"Could their positions be reclassified as Administrative? Same jobs, but paid by a different Division? We could call in a favor or two. Or maybe find them something in Supplies, if they would prefer a new start elsewhere. It would be hard to find a Branch willing to employ Reapers who have had two apprenticeships cancelled, are banned from teaching and have been stuck in desk jobs for underperformance and inability to work with other partners."
"It's a thought. I'll ask around. Ye're too kind, ye know. Their best bet would be to find a bar that needs a couple of bouncers. Let's go talk to Bourne."
Bourne was waiting for them, wrapped in his soldier-off-duty aspect and sipping a pint of bitter. He placed the books in a carrybag, reassuring Alan that they would be returned to the library in good time. "Any messages for the Major?"
Alan paused, his eyes lowered. "Come on, me Light, out with it," said Eric. "I can tell ye have one."
"Color-Sergeant. We have been informed by a demon that the Ravenings have been caused by hunger in Hell. Their population is increasing, just as the Reaper population is growing. I wonder—" he looked up at Bourne—"Have the Angels been increasing in numbers as well? Because if you haven't, you are in for a hard war."
Bourne's eyes widened for an instant. Alan's eyes dropped back to the table. "So many new Reapers. Stronger and better prepared than ever before. If too many of us survive, will you be ordered to thin our ranks? Hand us over to Hell? Will you order us to Reap each other? Or will the disasters be followed by an enormous population increase among humans and yet more disasters following? Be careful. Asking these questions may be dangerous. So much safer to silence someone than ask them to be silent."
Alan raised his green, glowing eyes again. "Be careful."
Senior Collections Agent (Grade Four) Roland D'Acres went home and swept Senior Auditor (Grade Four) Sarah Goodfellow into a desperate hug. "Sarah, are you all right? Are you truly free of Judicial's grasp?"
"Yes, of course, my dear. Would I go into such a situation without backup? Madame Administrator knew exactly where I was and what I was doing. When I did not check in with her at the appointed time, she arrived under full sail with all cannons blazing. Judicial is now under the control of a displeased Archangel and his numerous, humorless staff. Also all of Auditing was aware of the situation and ready to roll. Quite disappointed that they weren't needed, actually. Judicial's been giving us a bad name by association for years now."
"I will see Ten Hagen expelled from the Service. And his overly clever roommate. And when I find out who else was involved—"
"Do calm down, darling. I know you want to chop him up, put the bits in a candy box, tie it up with a ribbon and present it to me at Yule. That's sweet of you." She patted his chest and turned back to her cooking. "But he and his friends have done the Realm a great favor. I was happy to encourage their plan; after all, Alan has called my attention to a number of interesting chicaneries, and I want him around to keep doing it. It never occurred to them—such innocent children—that Judicial would falsify the demon's story for their own purposes, but it most certainly occured to me. Madame and I baited a trap.
"As a result, we have established as fact a number of our suspicions. We have found the last of the hidden schemers in Research—the ones who were working for Hell on firearms with scythe-metal bullets. Judicial's reign of terror is ended, and their power will be restrained. Ten Hagen was prompted by gratitude for Alan Humphries' kindness when he was an intern. And shouldn't we be grateful as well? When Alan made it possible for us to declare our partnership formally before all the Realm? Please forgive your apprentice, dear. I really must find an exceptional Christmas gift for Iris, to thank her for the demon."
D'Acres h'mphed. It was a quieter h'mph. Sarah found it endearing.
"I was never in danger, my love. Judicial at its worst has never wanted to cross Auditing. They have always acted upon suspicion in secrecy. We deal in mathematical certainties and the cold light of verified facts. To misrepresent the demon's testimony, they had to have no outside witnesses. I refused to be dismissed. They confined me illegally. Madame brought in the Angels. I think we should open a bottle of wine to celebrate."
Under a streetlamp in the human realm, London, December 21, 1910. Two individuals muffled in coats and scarves to keep out the wind
"Auditing raided Judicial today. They know about us. The others have already been picked up and imprisoned. They don't know anything that would endanger you or our mission. I'm leaving permanently. My reward awaits. But I have been instructed to pass this to you. Take it. Keep it hidden. Be patient. Wait until the current excitement is completely forgotten. Then use it. Don't expect to hear from my contact. If he wants to talk to you he'll send a message through someone who doesn't set off detectors."
A package was transferred. One ported out. One walked away.