November 19, 1918
The woman gasped and died.
Time stopped.
The cold, dark room was filled with Angels. Matthias, his daughter Isabel, the two remarkably imposing warriors who were her brothers, one or two others. On the bed was a human woman; Marianne, the wife of Matthias and the mother of three Angels.
There were no other humans present. Her family had never forgiven her for her out-of-wedlock first pregnancy or her marriage to the baby's father. Perhaps they were offended that the marriage had turned out so well in spite of their disapproval. Or, like the neighbors, they were afraid to go near anyone suffering from influenza.
Alan approached the bed. Carefully, so gently, Alan released her life records, reviewed them, and tucked them into his scythe for delivery to the Library. Then he put his glasses in his breast pocket, drew out a handkerchief, folded it, tied it over his eyes, and released her soul. Marianne rose rejoicing into the welcoming, joyous Light with all the Angels singing and swirling around her. For just a moment the brilliance and song surrounded him. He was lifted off his feet in a cyclone of jubilation. Someone seized his arm and shoved him out of the vortex. Then they were gone.
The room was once again dark and cold. Hollow, empty, abandoned, no longer redolent of tea and baking. Alan thought about getting up off the floor, then decided to wait for a moment until the spinning stopped. His eyes burned. He wondered if the handkerchief would show scorch marks. He thought that it probably shouldn't. He decided that theology was not his subject and left it to other Professors to argue.
"Me Light?"
"Humphries, are you done?"
Eric and Will had ported in from the roof. "Really, Humphries! I had a reason for telling you to avoid this family! Your disobedience is well punished. At least that was the last of them. I expect you to follow orders from now on! Get up. What was all that commotion? You have not even marked your Reap Completed! Most unprofessional! I want your report on my desk as soon as..."
The words bounced off Alan's head and rolled across the floor. Will was being Will about something. Ask somebody later what that was all about. Pain. Just bruises, mostly. He had hit the wall and fallen. He had been thrown into the wall…
"Wait a bit, Will, they stunned him bad. Mo sholas, are ye ready to sit up now?"
Alan thought about that and concluded that, on the whole, he was not. With great effort he twitched a finger. This was going to be difficult. For he had seen the Light. It was one of the punishments of a Reaper, to be so close, so often, and always, always to be left behind.
He groaned. Will said something snappish again and Eric responded sharply. Well. If he didn't want them dueling across the rooftops, he had to… had to… do… something.
On the other hand, if they just went away and had a jolly punch-up somewhere else, he could lie here a little longer, until the tears dried and the clock started ticking, and their cold dark eternity could go on going on.
They pulled him up, hanging between them, and ported him to the infirmary. The handkerchief was replaced with a pair of smoked glasses. A cup of fragrant tea was given him. It reminded him of something, he could never quite remember what it was. Slowly shapes began to appear as he became steadier. A couple of pills were administered. Eric was next to him on the cot, an arm around his shoulders, love and healing and concern flowing through their bond. Truly, why should he yearn for the Light, when Eric could not go there? Alan had made his choice long ago, and the Angels had simply honored it.
They didn't have to bang him against the wall, though. He'd liked the boys a lot better as children, back when he and Eric had played with them in the garden behind the little house. As adults, and as angels of the Forces Militant, they were far less pleasant. And Alan, once a favored visitor who might have sweets or small toys in his pockets, was now only a Reaper who had scythed their mother.
A tall spiky individual over to the right. Will, complaining loudly. He must be very worried about something. Unfamiliar rectangle in front of him; a nurse, trying to speak to him. He concentrated.
"Sir, can you hear me? I have some eyedrops that will help. Will you let me apply them?"
"Y'sss, plzz do, Nurzze." Another sip of tea. "Nursss." Better. Try again. "Nurse. Eyedrops. Yes." She tilted his head back and lifted the glasses. The drops were cool and soothing. He leaned left and there was Eric to rest against. More tea, to unlock his tongue. And of course, Will, still declaiming against the world. Really, Will needed to calm down. Alan took a deep breath and spoke towards the noise.
"Will. Stoppit. Inna firs' place she was on my List. Go argue with the Uppers who put her there. Inna secon' place, I made a promise and kept it. If I hadn't done it, another Reaper would have had to. At least I knew what to expect and was prepared. My vision is returning. Someone else could have been blinded for a week or more. Like Fancher was, by Matthias' translation to the Divine. So stop. Paperwork tomorrow."
The rant ceased. A soft buzz from Eric, asking the nurse permission to take Alan home. "And don't ye protest, Will, we are all well into our rest shift."
Home was good. Home was welcome. Home was, in this case, bed. Alan was desperately tired and in pain. As Collins would say; Damn angels.
Eric helped him into bed. "Yer bruised all up yer left side. I can see a handprint on your right arm. Who did that?"
"Either Gregory or Edmund. Not sure."
"Wee Isabel's brothers. Ach. I would have thought better of the boys. Translation and training probably dimmed their memories of their human lives. But Isabel remembered us kindly, back at the Hospice."
"She belongs to Raphael's host. I think they are gentler by nature. The boys are Azrael's, through and through. It will be years before either of them matures enough to work with their father Matthias. I don't want to talk about them anymore; it's over, it's done, we've lost them." Alan paused to recover himself. He adjusted the towel covering his watering not weeping eyes, listening to the comforting familiar sounds of his partner completing his evening rituals. "Will's cranky." Will had been right, though. A Reaper should never become fond of a human family.
"Will is always cranky." Eric was hanging up his clothes.
"He doesn't usually waste it on someone who can't appreciate it. I am tired of it and so is most of the office. Even Ronnie almost told him to stuff it, after that last tirade. There is a perfectly logical way to improve his temper and I will try it tomorrow. He won't like it, but I'll try."
"Good, then. I will be talking to Scheduling. Mountjoy and Kendall are not going back to Amritsar after they recover. We need to find replacements, and those replacements are going to be fully informed of what's happened, and will be in triad or quartet. I'm going to consolidate any other teams we have working there, too." Eric came over and drew his pajama trousers out from under his pillow, pulled them on, and sat by the bed. Alan smelled shoe polish.
"The Angels should be investigating there by now."
"Don't care. Angels're not our friends either. It'll take time. Meanwhile I am not sending our people into a situation where the local Reapers are as hostile as the demons, not without warning, and not in singles or pairs."
"They're going to be stiff about that."
"If their Uppers have the starch to complain we don't trust them, well, too damn bad. It's my job to distrust somebody who's already attacked us once. Like at Liége at the beginning of the war, I am going to make sure every Reaper and Admin who's working Personnel anywhere in the Realm knows exactly what happened there. I'm going to send out a worldwide departmental memo tomorrow. They'll all chuckle at the Brits being targeted. Then they'll start thinking about how much love they are likely to get from their own countries' colonies or displaced native populations. Damned if I know why Will doesn't pull our people out of there."
"He can't. The Lists are beyond the local Reapers' capabilities. That is all that matters. That is also why the Angels are going to handle it. Uriel is already there shaking the place out. If short-tempered Azrael gets involved, that entire Branch will be condemned and replaced. All of India is up for review. Their Uppers know that and are panicking. Look, the presence of the demons tells us that most of this is their doing. Remember Avram's report on Fergilept's warning? Demons working through Reapers, against other Reapers, for their own purposes. On the Reaper side it's probably just a few discontented grumblers gathered around a charismatic hater. Usually is. Sauer just gravitated naturally into their circle."
Eric set his shoes in the closet and went to wash up. He returned, turned off the light, and eased into bed so as not to jostle Alan too badly. "Ye can leave off the towel now, me love. Give me your hand and let me hold it. It will all be better in the morning."
"Will, why don't you go visit Grell? Take her out to dinner and the theatre. Have Scheduling synchronize your rest shifts and ask her out on a date."
"That would be quite unacceptable, Humphries. I am stationed here. Her duty is elsewhere. Neither of us can leave our posts." Humphries was getting above himself again, thought Will.
"Piffle. There is no written rule that says I can't set up a portal and bring her here or send you there. All you have to do is call her, decide what you'd like best, and give me the times you want to go and return. An evening with her is no different than a lunch meeting with the Angels in the Human Realm. Probably more productive, too."
"Humphries! The portal is strictly for business purposes."
"It's for moving people. Ask her where she'd like to go and when. Doesn't have to be in London or Bombay; want to go to that restaurant in France she likes? Just tell me your plans. We'll bring her here and send you both wherever you like. As long as she's back for her next duty shift, no problem."
Will proceeded with caution. Humphries might be overstepping his bounds and proposing a wholly forbidden act, but he was also displaying signs of temper. Indeed, he had been unusually testy since moving back into his office after Will had returned to his own. "Her handlers in Bombay might object to her absence, even on a rest shift."
Slingby had suggested letting Humphries keep the meeting room as his office, but that was inefficient and inconvenient and above Humphries' rank. One would think the return to normal would have settled Humphries down. Honestly. Most annoying. And Madame's orders were clear; he must be kept within strict bounds, guarded, closely confined.
"Bombay is not going to argue with us, not after I caught Amritsar trying to find and finish off Kendall so they could sell us his body," Humphries said sharply. "One peep out of any of them and I'll file a full report with you, Madame, and the Garrison. They know it. I told them this in great detail. Have they reported me? Not a whisper, right? We can do this once a week if you like. Do it for Grell; she misses you, you know. She becomes reckless if she's away from you too long."
Will's eyes lit up. "You've already written that report, haven't you?"
"Yes. If they give you any trouble at all, you will find it in my files in a folder labelled Shenanigans. In fact, if anything happens to me, hand that whole folder over to Auditing. Talk to Grell."
"Humphries. You know perfectly well that personal use of a business asset is strictly forbidden to all…"
"Find a business reason to go to Bombay. Review your troops. Interview team leaders. Ask Bombay their opinions of the pandemic and what happened in Amritsar. Be so scary they will cheer your decision to go have a quiet dinner with your wife. Or just request that she return for a few hours off-shift to consult on a report for the Higher Ups."
Alan left Will stewing in his office. He'd failed. Will was going to dismiss his suggestion. He returned to Bradshaw's desk. "Morning meeting's over, Brad. No classes today. I'm going over to the Academy to do some paperwork and student counselling, then off to Reap. May I have some tea before I go?"
"Of course, Senior." Bradshaw headed for the storeroom where the teas and coffee were brewed. Alan turned to Ten Hagen, who stood waiting for him by Brad's desk.
"Dutch, it's going to be a complete bore. No need for you to come. Would you rather follow up with Maritime for me? Just the usual, except I'd like to talk to one of their old salts about demons of the deep. See if they can set up a meeting." He gestured Dutch into his office.
"Are you trying to ditch me, Senior? Senior Duncan has just given us another lecture about that."
"No, not this time. Come if you like, you're always welcome." There was something about the large, silent, and watchful Ten Hagen which shooed off the honking gaggles of ancient academics determined to discuss Acceptable Lecture Content. "Use my phone while I scribble. Are you still living with Smitty?"
"Yessir. Smitty has declared that he has night terrors if he lives alone. It appears that no other roommate will do. Housing feels that they have done their due diligence. Scythes is content that there will be no more accidents due to sleep deprivation. Engineer Crawford has forbidden any more fiddling with our arrangements. Smitty's back in everyone's good graces and I'm back in my own bed."
Alan reached into a vest pocket to withdraw his Angel blade. He turned it in his hands, contemplating the beautiful presentation handle with its silver inlay. "Please give this to Smitty. Ask him to pass it to Engineer Crawford, with the request that he keep it safe until I can come for it."
Dutch took the knife and tucked it into his own vest. "Is there a problem with this blade, sir?"
"Only that I fear it will be confiscated, along with my scythe, if Will orders me disarmed. Or it might be used to track me when I leave. Here's Eric's presentation haft as well."
"Very well, sir." The second knife also vanished into an inner pocket. "Still, neither of you should Reap without one. Take mine. I'll borrow one from someone on desk duty. I'll ask Smitty if he can find a pair of replacements. Do you plan to go soon?"
"Will's getting worse. I suggested he visit Agent Sutcliff. He rejected the notion as rule-breaking, which it is, but it might get him to think about alternative possibilities. I understand his difficulties. He's harder on himself than on anyone else. I think he's going to explode pretty soon, and I'm the most likely target. But you know the Branch will manage perfectly well without me."
"Brad's back," said Dutch. He rose to open the door for Bradshaw with his tea tray. Brad settled the tray on Alan's desk as Dutch closed the door.
"Blueberry scones today, sir, still warm. Your cup, sir. And yours, Mister Ten Hagen. Anything else you'd like?"
Accepting his cup, Dutch asked, "Brad, can you loan me your Angel Blade? Just for a day or two. The mechanism on mine is jammed. I'm turning it in to Scythes tonight."
"Of course, Dutch. Here. I only Reap a half shift a day. I'll borrow Hamners'. He's on desk duty while recovering. I'll tell him mine needs work because I used it to pry open tea tins. Senior Humphries, you should eat that scone if you're going straight from the Academy to the hospital. Should I arrange a meal delivery for you both at the Academy?"
I have forced these good men to lie for me, thought Alan. The sooner I leave, the better for them all.
"Brad, please lock the door. No, you're staying in here with us. Pull up that chair. Here's a clean mug, pour for yourself, please. You know I'm going to be leaving, of course."
"Yes, sir. Only question is when and in how great a hurry. Also if you need a rearguard action, sir."
"Absolutely not. A fight between two people is just a disagreement. If others join in, it's an insurrection. I don't want anyone to get hurt or any legal proceedings to ensue."
"Understood, sir."
"I hoped to stay on until the pandemic's second wave has passed, sometime in the early summer. I don't think that will be possible. If I am expelled from the Branch, or have to escape suddenly, there are things you two need to know. Brad, in that cabinet is a folder marked References. Can you take it out? Thanks." He removed two fat envelopes, handing one to each man. "These are glowing letters of recommendation, just in case Will decides to fire you as complicit in my misdeeds or flight. Take them to Director Roland D'Acres of Bristol. He knows all about Will's temper and appreciates a good cup of tea. Will can shout all he likes, but Roland won't send you back here; he'll just tell Will 'finders keepers.'
"Dutch, everything necessary for the next Budget is already in Brock's hands. Senior Solway has most of what she will need for the end-of-quarter and end-of-year reports. The folders marked Shenanigans and Chicanery go to Senior DePoy. Tell Maritime I'll be in touch when it's safe. Frankly, I'd let Will put Ronnie in this seat with you as his backup. He'll hate it – it's all the work he likes least. He'll spin off most of it to you. Let him take all the hanging-about-in-bars and networking duties, it's his natural talent and very valuable. You'll be ready to take over this desk when he persuades Will to let him create a new section in Operations. The title of that section will be Intelligence, and it will be important in the coming years. There's a folder for him, labelled Contacts.
"Don't take any abuse from Will. If he tries, warn him once. The second time, give notice and leave. Otherwise he will treat you as he treats me. This job is not worth it. As a respected Operations Reaper qualified to mentor a trainee, and with management-level experience in in inter-Branch relations, you can expect generous offers anywhere you apply. You are good at this work. Pick somebody supportive to do it for.
"Brad, I know that Security keeps a book on my offsite responsibilities. Get a copy of that. Add it to a copy of my daybook and give it to DePoy after I leave, to hold for my successor. He or she will find a letter in my files. Here in my desk is my letter of resignation. Give it to Senior Jacobs if I have to run. Here's your own copy of it, in case Will tears this one up. Be careful. He hits when he really loses control. Stay with this office if possible – Ronnie will protect you as long as you feed him. If Will decides that your work is unnecessary and overrides Knox, you have the choice of transferring to Avram, applying to DePoy for reassignment to Admin, or going to Bristol. Or anywhere else you will be appreciated. Do either of you have questions?"
"Have you a letter of resignation for the Academy?"
"Filed already with the Senior Archivist there. You have his number. He'll deliver it as soon as you tell him I'm gone."
"Anything for the Garrison?"
"I have fulfilled all my duties to the Angels."
"Eric will go with you?" asked Dutch.
"Yes, Dutch. Sorry, I know that's a problem. This puts Sam Terry on the spot in Personnel, but only as Avram's second. He'll be fine. Our Admins are safe. DePoy's too powerful to cross."
"Can Madame drag you back here?" asked Bradshaw.
"I have been told she cannot – as long as I reach my destination before she can stop me. This may all be unnecessary, of course. Will may let my transgression pass; he may expel me without unusual anger; the pandemic may ease so that I can give proper notice and leave on relatively good terms. But it is my job to prepare for the worst and make provisions for it."
Dutch looked out the window at the brick wall. "It seems to me that if the Director goes out of control, the best way to counter him is to bring Avram into it. Avram is Eldest. Spears honors him. Attacking him would be unconscionable. He's part of the structure Spears fights to preserve."
"That's right, Dutch. Avram's also going to do his best to smooth things over and avoid the attention of the Uppers. Will knows that and should cool down. Now, please don't spread this. If Will gets an Angel in here to force complete answers, everyone needs to be safely ignorant."