Alan rose very early, reconnected the phone, and went into work to write his report. He left it on Spears' desk. He returned to his office, locked the door, and wrote three very important letters. He then called home to wake his partner.
Eric answered muzzily. "Me Light? Wherrr arr ye?"
"Time to get up, big man. Please come straight to my office. Try to get here before Will arrives. I need to run one short errand without anyone noticing. Scold me for skipping breakfast and announce that you're taking me to the Cafeteria. Run off anyone who wants to tag along."
"Important, is it? Grr, where's my shoe…"
"They're serving scotch eggs today," said Alan at his most seductive. "Scones. Doughnuts. Coffee."
"Arrr, ye cruel and heartless wee tempter. Right. Ten minutes."
Alan tucked the envelopes inside his vest and put on his jacket. He unlocked his door. Eric arrived just as Bradshaw did. "G'mornin', Brad. I'm buying Alan his breakfast today. We'll be back soon. Anybody who wants him can wait for a wee bit. Duncan, I'm on escort duty. Alan, come along now, you know the rules. Ye owe me three kisses fer dodgin' yer breakfast, and not just maidenly pecks either."
As they left the building, Eric said, "That'll hold 'em. They won't want to interrupt us smooching at the back of the Cafeteria. Because I'd wallop them and they know it. Where first?"
"The London Lab. I'll port us." —dzzipt—
"Ma'am, I have a letter for Manager Cole, which I am directed to personally lay on his desk. With your permission?"
"He's just come in, sir, one moment." Cole arrived, looked at Eric, looked at Alan, and waved them into his office. "Hold my calls, Miss Pearson."
Once the door was closed, Cole grinned. "What do you need?"
"Donnie, I very much need not to be here. I have to be in the Cafeteria before Director Spears tracks my glasses. Here's a letter explaining everything, and two more letters which need to be sent on to other people. Can you have a discreet underling take them to their destinations? I'll pay for the service."
"Want him to wait for replies?"
"Yes, please, if at all possible. The replies should go to my office at the Academy. There's a key in your letter. Post it back to me when you're done."
"Very well. Sounds like fun. Go on, get to where you need to be. I'll handle this."
Eric had his full English breakfast. Alan had a smaller plate. He wasn't at all hungry, which was just nerves. Eric made him eat most of it. They returned to their desks forty-five minutes late for the beginning of their shifts.
Fortunately Spears was, at the moment, in a telephone meeting with a number of foreign Directors, arranging the distribution of Reapers to countries worst hit by the pandemic. Waved off by Wójcik, Alan escaped to his office to gather his teaching and counselling materials. Bradshaw went over his schedule for the day. A disturbance outside was followed by a quick knock on the doorframe. It was ffoulkes, in considerable distress.
Kendall had died in India. Mountjoy, his partner of several decades, was missing. ffoulkes asked Alan to release him. "I owe it to my Mentor to find him and bring him back. I can't let him be declared a deserter. He's just lost his glasses. He probably hasn't gone far from the scene. He might have pursued the demon who attacked them. The quicker I can get there, the nearer he will be."
"Have you talked to Duncan or Mallory?"
"Yes. They can manage. They sent me to you for the final permission. Please, sir—"
"Granted. Where was he posted?"
"Punjab, sir. Amritsar."
"Pack your duffel and bring it to the War Room. I'll set up the portals. I have friends all along the way; we'll get you there as soon as possible. On arrival, set up a mail drop at the local Branch and inform me so I can forward your paycheck. I'll make some calls to folks in the area who might help. Take whatever's in petty cash; you'll be paying baksheesh. When you find him, bring him to Collins at the Academy and ask who's specializing in grief and burnout."
"Thank you, sir!"
By the time ffoulkes was back, Alan had a nine-portal relay set up and had spoken to the Director of Amritsar. Since the search was funded and staffed by London, Amritsar professed itself happy to assist a Reaper who was rushing to aid his elder and teacher. A Junior Reaper would be waiting to help ffoulkes with the local geography and customs.
A Thorns convalescent named Parkash volunteered to accompany ffoulkes to handle arrangements that might otherwise delay the search. ("They'd rob him blind, sir, and they don't like Brits at all. Bad history. I'll keep him safe and unswindled. Just let me get my duffel.") Admin and Security did a quick whip-round to add to the travel fund. Bradshaw wrote down a number of handy phone numbers and the portal settings on a bit of paper and tucked it into a drawstring purse along with the money.
The purse went into the duffel, ffoulkes and Parkash rushed through the portal, and the War Room quickly returned to standby status. When Will came out to demand what all the flurry was, Alan merely stated that he had begun a standard search for a Reaper reported missing in action.
Will looked around the War Room at a group of Reapers and Admins attempting to project an innocence none had actually possessed since earliest childhood. "Will I regret this, Humphries?"
"No, sir."
"If I ask about this, will I be forced to do something regrettable? Such as proscribe a seceder?"
"Perhaps, sir, it is better not to ask," said Senior Auditor DePoy at her coldest.
Will turned to see his ranking Admins – DePoy, Brock and Solway – aligned against him. He glared. "Humphries, my office."
"Sorry, sir. I must leave to teach. I will report back when my duties permit."
"Humphries!" But Humphries was gone. Wójcik quickly called Will's attention to his next meeting. Everyone else escaped. Duncan checked Alan's schedule and decided there was no need to send a bodyguard after him.
Alan taught two classes, met with his teaching assistants, dodged a delegation of professors who wanted an argument as long as they outnumbered him, and visited Collins.
"You have no contamination, but your blood pressure is high. You need rest. Eric and Senior Jacobs came by, they're clean. Slight traces on Bradshaw. Terry ditto. Ten Hagen is more affected. I've sent them off to the decontamination showers again, it does help. I told them to have Maintenance wipe down their desks, chairs and typewriter keys with whatever cleaning fluid Scythes uses. Bradshaw told me about ffoulkes; here's a list of alienists who can help Mountjoy; hope he's found soon."
Alan checked his watch and locked himself inside a study carrel at the PostGraduate Library. Will could have tracked his glasses, of course, but Alan was safe here. Two months previously, Will had barged in shouting for him. The Chief Librarian, all eighty-nine pounds of her, stopped him cold and marched him out, banning him from the premises. Alan had presented her with a pot of thyme (activity, courage, strength) and a handsome gift box of violetta di Parma scented soaps as a token of his gratitude and appreciation.
Alan slept in the carrel for an hour. It left him rumpled and aching, but ready for student counselling. He went to his office in Greyhame Hall. Several students were already lined up in the hallway. The delay of this year's graduation had given the students additional time to research the Divisions and apprenticeships available to them. Alan distributed referrals and letters of introduction to Seniors willing to grant tours and interviews. Bright kids, all of them. It benefitted the Realm to have them properly placed. Not everyone agreed, of course; many traditionalists on the faculty felt that anyone who wanted to work in the support services had to wash out of Collections first. Inefficient, really. Wasteful of time and talent, and lives.
After sending the last student off for a site visit and interview with Supplies, he sorted through his mail. Ah; three letters among the usual memos, flyers and notifications for faculty meetings. Bless Cole and all his works. He should return to the Branch to deal with whatever emergency had arrived in the last five hours. But if Will caught him, he'd have to endure a rant about his report of two Reapers' accidental contamination. Alan was not prepared to endure that rant.
Spears was not doing well in Grell's absence. Spears was, indeed, furious. He had been forced to deploy the Gupta/Vanderveldt/Sutcliff triad to India. Grell had welcomed being deployed, too, another irritation. The team of Slingby and Humphreys could have been sent instead, with Gupta in charge. But Alan was safe in London, due to orders Spears could not ignore. Spears' frustrated tirades now contained a note of personal enmity.
Eric was assigned field duty. Maybe Alan could suggest he drag Will along on his Reaps. Will needed a good fight or two. Eric could cheer him on and help if things got out of hand… because this latest nonaggression pact between the Celestial and Infernal Realms was not being observed by combatants in the Human Realm. The Angels couldn't be bothered, the Demons couldn't be stopped, and the Reapers could use a witness with Will's rank and connections. Reporting it upwards might distract Will from yelling at his subordinates.
Grell should return in two months. Oh, sweet buttered hell; what would Will be like after another two months without Grell? Because if Will started berating people who wouldn't tolerate it, who wouldn't wait him out and calm him down, there was going to be a bloody revolt. Caroline Cortland, for one, would probably toast marshmallows over his flaming corpse while the Admins danced around the fire.
Could he hold out until Grell returned? Would Will learn about the cover-up first? He gathered his courage. These letters would tell him if he was going to be homeless.
He would stay here and read these very important letters, which should never enter the Branch anyway. He would then go straight to his shift at the Royal London Hospital. Fortunately, Security agreed he did not need a partner when Reaping there; Dutch hadn't been cleared for duty and effie might not be back for days. Eric would meet him at shift's end. They could find a pub, eat, and hide these letters in the little box they rented in the Pawnbroker's safe. No office, no more Will until morning. As Avram would say; enough was too much already. Doctor's orders. Rest.
Mallory would assign him an escort tomorrow, to replace ffoulkes. Whoever it was would be competent or they wouldn't be working for Mallory. They'd lost a lot of people to foreign assignments, though. He might find himself further restricted for lack of personnel. That might work in his favor, actually.
No more delay. He opened the first, most important letter.
From: Geoffrey Chandless
Director of _ Branch
To: Alan Humphries
Senior Assistant Director, London Branch; Instructor (Ethics, Technique, Combat), London Academy
Esteemed Sir,
In reply to your query;
Our offer stands. You are more than welcome here at any time. Our Branch does not give the proverbial fig about the decisions of your archconservative and blinkered Management. We invite you and your partner, at your earliest convenience, to enjoy a site visit to our Branch…
Blinkered. Alan thought briefly of Will's glasses, the broad temples focusing his eyes straight ahead and blocking any information from outside that narrow path.
Your accommodation stands ready, adjusted to Climate Zone Cfb on the Köppen- Geiger scale. You need not even return to London if you find our offer acceptable. That is your decision alone, not ours and most certainly not London's. Professors Rosine and Talbot eagerly await the opportunity to welcome you both as well…
Oh, thank the Highest. Excellent. If Will banished him, he and Eric would not be homeless or subject to random assignment to opposite ends of the earth.
Alan opened the second letter.
From: Donald Cole
Site Manager, London Laboratory
To: Alan Humphries
Senior Assistant Director, London Branch; Instructor (Ethics, Technique, Combat), London Academy
Sir,
No problem at all. I can set things up in the Experimental area, where test runs are not tracked by the Monitors. If you plan on a short trial visit to this destination, may I suggest that you visit their Spectacles office for locally tracked glasses? I'm sure you can appreciate the advantages of a spare pair…or a spare scythe…
Oh. Just so. Clever Donnie.
And now the third letter.
From: Cecilia Rosine
Headmistress of _ Academy
To: Alan Humphries, Instructor (Ethics, Technique, Combat), London Academy; Senior Assistant Director, London Branch
Honored Academician;
We eagerly await your earliest arrival. Ours is a new and small institution, which has not copied the narrow and semi-abusive traditions of some older Academies. We intend that it shall become the most modern and inclusive of universities, producing not only exemplary Reapers, but exemplary Support personnel. We believe in making the best use of every student, according to their interests as well as our needs.
Your Field Guide to Demons in its most recent edition will be added to our curriculum immediately upon receipt. We have been using an old mimeographed version, kept from long ago at the London Academy. Be assured that we will not attempt to prune your syllabus, lectures or publications of uncomfortable or unfashionable truths.
Senior Slingby's many talents will also be most welcome as soon as he is available…
Hot coffee, dark roast, cream and no sugar. Come and get it, Sensei.
