Cloak swirling dramatically, the Brussels Director left to find more compliant companions.
"How does he do that?" asked Knox.
"Elbows," said Eric. "Spread your elbows and swoop a bit. The cloth catches the air and billows. Not much practice needed, just enough so you don't go knocking knick-knacks off the furniture. Probably the only talent he has. Definitely the only one he's worked on."
"M'not impressed."
"He's going to be trouble. He's assuming military-style authority. This fellow sees us as disposable troops for any action too dangerous or dirty for his own people. I won't accept his orders if they're going to get us dead. I need to talk to Sandriel."
"Can Sandriel override this man's rank? Or his Garrison?" worried Knox.
"Beltless," shrugged the enigmatic Park.
"What?"
"Beyond highest rank."
"Which Angels do you know who do not have military titles?" said Chen.
"Michael, Azrael, Uriel…oh."
"Probably junior among the seraphim, but has plenty authority down here."
"Then what is he doin', hangin' about wi' the likes of us?" Knox asked.
"He's worked with Alan for a few years," said Eric. "He's become rather fond of us. He has his own agenda, of course, but we can use this. We may have to remind some individuals that we are civilians and answer to the London Director. We can't be ordered about like soldiers and scythed for insubordination. Except by our own Angels, of course, who know better."
August 6, 1914
Ronald Knox returned from Liège to report on the Reapers' preparations in Belgium. He entered the Branch like a fresh breeze of spring, greeting everyone with great good cheer. D'Acres was waiting for him. Together they entered Will's office.
The moment D'Acres closed the door, the cheerfulness vanished. Knox chose one of the comfortable chairs reserved for Reapers not in trouble, slumped into it and sighed. Mr. Wójcik, Spear's Admin Assistant, brought tea for all and left, discreetly closing the door behind him.
"Report, Mr. Knox."
"Lord, Will, what a mess." Knox sipped from his mug, shuddered and resumed. "There are some big differences between London's culture and the traditions of foreign Branches. We work a lot more closely with our Angels, we take far better care of our people, and we do not accept stupidity from anybody. There is a lot of stupid. I swear it's a cash crop over there. They've been stockpiling stupid. For years.
"Most of our allies have copied their Garrisons' military discipline; unquestioning obedience. We are teaching them that we are civilians expected to think, but it's an ongoing process. Eric's reputation inspires caution. All of our defense patrols include a couple of Angels. They protect us from demons, but equally they protect us from our allies."
"These are the Angels who used to work our demon patrols?" asked D'Acres. "Alliances have been developed there, of a sort, given what they are and what we are."
"Yeah. London Reapers belong to the London Angels. Nobody bullies us but them, ya know? So we get a lot of nonsense from the Reapers, but their Garrisons refuse to get involved in our disputes.
"Some of the ranking local Seniors have tried to assume control of all Reapers in their areas. They wanna tell everybody where and when to work, and to only Reap souls of a given army or nationality. Problem is, their orders contradict the Death Lists. The Lists update constantly and tend to go by area rather than allegiance when the fighting is at close quarters. One strutting martinet accused us Brits of cowardice and treason for following our Lists instead of his orders. He threatened executions. Tried to arrest a whole shift of us. Eric appealed to an angel named Sandriel, who worked with Alan during the War Room setups. He's got some real authority. I don't know Sandriel's official rank, but that Senior is demoted to Junior with all his toadies, and some very explicit announcements have been made by the Higher Ups about any Reaper who values his vanity above the Lists.
"There probably will be trouble in the future when Reapers on defense duty have to choose between rescue and attack. The Europeans don't track glasses as much as we do, not yet. They just post lists of anybody who doesn't show up for duty. They lose a lot of people that way. We track constantly. We go after our own the minute they tap their glasses for help. We don't leave the field without accounting for everyone. Yer gonna need to be ready to back us up when the locals object, because it's a big philosophical difference."
"Very well," said Will, who had unpleasant memories of the days when London had treated its workers that way. "I shall discuss this today with Madame Administrator. Her word will have far greater weight than mine. If she is ready to respond it will save time and lives."
"That's good. If that can be sorted out before the demons become more active, that would be really good. Ravenings are nowhere near what we expected. Eric's worried about that. Thinks they're waiting for us to get overconfident and tired. The locals like to schedule overtime well into rest shifts. Their people are already dragging, and those ring forts around Liège aren't going to hold much longer.
"Demonic activity's sort of tentative. Feeling out the opposition. Grell took us on a long sweep through the area. She complained it was not nearly as much fun as dealing with Prussian Reapers. Certainly it involved fewer casualties."
Will removed his glasses and covered his eyes with his hand. "Explain."
"Don't worry, it's pretty much settled. Gupta kept Grell from using her scythe— good triad there, by the way, Chandra's used to restraining Vanderveldt's enthusiasm, and Grell accepts his authority as her Senior by a century. After our first duty shift, we adjourned to the local Reaper bar. The foreign Reapers were scandalized. Grell's gotten used to acceptance at home; she won't wear black and cut her hair. The French and Belgians snickered at her. A gang of Prussians started some nasty verbal abuse."
Will replaced his glasses. "I will not have my Reapers subjected to..."
"Dam' right, you won't. We all put down our drinks, picked our targets and let 'em dig their own graves. Some swaggering man-mountain with a Mensur scar challenged Grell. She told him that dueling was strictly a contest between gentlemen, and that neither of them qualified, since she was a lady and he was a lout. Then she kicked him in the nuts. His cronies jumped in. We stacked 'em like cordwood out back on the trash heap. Except for the ringleader. Grell tied him upside-down and naked to a lamppost across the street. She wanted to go find some blue paint, but Gupta scolded her for wasting time on one defeated opponent while the rest of us were still fighting his mates.
"The barkeep calmed right down when we dumped their wallets into his hands. They'd been bullying his staff and not paying their tab.
"Our opponents weren't up to London standards. Eric wants me to report that it's poor training. They teach only one style of unarmed combat. They skimp on scythe handling in favor of ceremonial dueling with light swords, which is ever so upperclass on the dueling piste, but useless in war. It assumes that you and your opponent have the same set of rules and will stick to them. No streetfighting instructors. No diversity, no flexibility, not much science, just brute force and overconfidence. They underestimate anybody outside their narrow circle. Eric says he wants a front row seat when they meet the Glaswegians in their kilts. At least we know these berks are good enough to manage demons of middle rank. They're perfect to lead a charge; God knows I don't trust them behind me.
"I had a talk with a German Reaper who kept out of the fight. This gang of Prussians has an unpleasant reputation. They Reap well enough. They defend their own but are contemptuous of allies. They preach that they are the pinnacle of perfection and that all other Reapers must bow before their innate superiority. They're vicious when thwarted. If they lose a fight, it's someone else's fault. They are 'tricked' or 'betrayed' but never beaten. It may explain some of this war if they're a reflection of their humans. They're not all like that, just the ones who've been following the Prussian army too long. Some of the Germans kinda like their attitude, but not many, 'cause the Prussians snub them as social inferiors."
"Surely their prejudices and politics were stripped away with their memories when they were made Reapers?" asked D'Acres.
"The Prussian officer corps encourages this philosophy. I think that's where their Reapers get it. They come from a small, insular Academy. Very big frogs, as long as they stay in their very tiny puddle. Getting their arses kicked by Reapers of the 'lesser races' is a real shock. They don't cooperate with allies willingly or well. The Belgians get around that by routing their requests through the Berlin Garrison. Berlin Angels enforce strict obedience in terms their Reapers can understand. Will, keep that in mind if you ever need to give them orders. In the future, Eric thinks that we will have to win duels with their most dominant Seniors, then demonstrate to them our obedience to you. That will establish you at the top of the pecking order and spare you their insolence and insubordination.
"The French and Belgians are now treating Grell like a lady, at least where any Brit can see them. The Germans are starting to call her Die Walküre. But there are glances, and whispers, and we travel together at all times. Vanderveldt posted warnings around our station to stay in groups and be wary, especially anybody who isn't a blond male. All the females in the field are Londoners. Everybody else is learning the hard way that annoying them is unwise.
"The Belgians insisted on separating the women from the men in our barracks, which made them more vulnerable to unwanted approaches. We installed all sorts of tripwires around their area and rigged an alarm to sound in ours. Grell, of course, sleeps where she damn well pleases, and it pleased her to bunk with the women. There was a group attack on them during our next rest shift. A couple of our Angels were there playing poker. We all joined in the fight, blocking the exits so nobody escaped without punishment. As a result, there are lots of non-Brits unavailable for duty. The locals tried to call it a mere prank, in spite of the fact that the attackers were armed. How dare we defend ourselves? They protested our unreasonably violent response. They were very upset that the incident couldn't be swept under the rug, not with angelic involvement."
"One assumes," said D'Acres austerely, "that our Miss Quirke has found her new motorized hedge-trimmer quite satisfactory."
"She says Smitty's a genius. But of course, we could not raise our scythes against other Reapers. We just hit them with sticks. Big ones."
Will scowled and tapped a finger on his desk. Ronnie raised a hand.
"Nah, nah, it sounds bad but it's working in our favor. Their Infirmaries are complaining about wasting supplies on patching up the losers. Their Uppers are hovering on the edge of the decision to open transport portals and send everyone home off-shift to bust up their own bars. A couple more large brawls should do it."
Spears picked up his phone. "Mister Wójcik. Please find Mister Humphries and send him in here. Then arrange a call to Madame Administrator at her earliest convenience. I shall need perhaps ten minutes of her time for a single approval of a tactical decision. Thank you."
"Aw, Will, don't call the ladies home! They are our most effective Reapers! Soldiers killed on battlefields attack male Reapers, but receive the women as angels of mercy. Which they are, really."
"Knox, it is completely unacceptable to allow our people to be housed where they may be assaulted by their own allies. They will use a long-distance transport portal to return here when off-duty. Ah, Humphries. Go to your henchmen in Scientific. They are to install a long-range portal in our Belgian outpost and inform all our personnel that they are to return home for their rest shifts. Officially this will be to spare our allies the cost of housing and feeding our off-duty Reapers. Unofficially, any unauthorized individual attempting to use this portal will be treated as an enemy intruder. Knox will tell you why. By the time you have the necessary devices and technicians gathered, I shall have Madame Administrator's signature on your orders."
Humphries cocked a cynical eyebrow at Knox. "We've been told we can't take a joke, I assume?"
"Yeah, and we've demonstrated that we can take their jokes and shove 'em so far up their..."
"Precisely," interrupted Spears. "Knox, go with Humphries as he gathers supplies. Tell our colleagues the reason for this decision; they will expedite the matter and may have some suggestions. Return here for my written orders. Knox will then get back over to Belgium and deliver my directive to Slingby. He's to spread the word immediately. I want this done before any further assaults can be made."
Once they were outside the meeting room, Humphries asked Knox, "How's Eric doing?"
"Fine. Being away from you makes him cranky, which is exactly the attitude needed over there."
Alan smiled. "Nice to know he's enjoying himself."
"Look, Alan, there's a real problem. A few European Reapers are spreading rumors that the London Branch is a molly house. Not that we're at all unusual in our partnerships, but that Grell's so open about it. Here's the thing— some few British Reapers have encouraged their opinions. We've been too successful, you see. Jealousy. Will's gonna want to stay above these scuffles, or he's only gonna be seen as Grell's spouse. That's gonna kill his authority with some rival Branches and countries. And Alan? You mustn't ever go alone outside Dispatch headquarters. They are afraid of Eric but haven't learned to be afraid of you. Or to be afraid of the consequences of Eric finding out they've attacked you. All in fun, of course, the bastards."
"Ah. Thanks, Ronnie. Warning received and acknowledged. Now tell me what made Will so angry that he declared an open break with the Europeans' arrangements."
"Attack on our women's quarters, third shift. I may have mentioned to Will that Grell was in there."
"What, a ravening?"
"No. Our oh-so-noble allies, twenty of 'em, breaking into the women's side of the barracks. After a note was posted that no weapons or scythes could be kept there, Chichima Onayemi reported to Eric that the housing arrangement smelled like a setup. Eric asked around. All the explanations were kinda glib. They don't like warlike females and they don't like us. It was obvious that something was being planned and that the management was going to let it happen. We wired the building with all sorts of alarms and made some plans.
"The invaders were expecting a henhouse full of twittering Admins. They found a lair of lionesses, two Angels, and Grell. When the alarms rang, the women moved to the center of the building to draw them all in. Then they broke open a crate of non-scythe weapons. I don't know where Tonia found all the cricket bats. We men ran outside with great big dirty sticks, surrounded the building and whacked every invader who tried to escape. Then we turned around and defended against the goons who showed up to arrest the ladies. They took us all in for a hearing – that was already rigged too, they were going to lock up the lewd women for enticing the advances of their innocent boys –"
"Really." Alan's temper was rising just a little too rapidly. For maximum effect, Ronnie needed this to be a controlled detonation. He moved on quickly.
"That's what they said at first. But Eric had talked to your friend the Angel. Sandriel and Malachi had adopted a female aspect and stationed themselves in there as guardians. They joined in the fight. At the hearing they let the glamour drop. The locals tried to dismiss the charges at once, but Sandriel stopped them. He ordered Malachi to summon the London Angels, and that brought in the Belgian Garrisons, and the truth came out. They accused us of using our scythes, too, but their own Angels told them to stop lying. They slapped the leaders down hard, and the magistrate with them."
"Injuries to anyone we care about?"
"Nothing major. I need to bring Grell a bottle of nail polish. Significant damage to the enemy. We didn't quite kill anybody, but none of 'em will be battle-ready for a while. They'll be unpopular with the folks who have to pick up their duties."
"If they have the time and energy to waste attacking their own allies, they don't need us over there at all," Alan said softly. "But that's going to change very soon. Hm. If we pull our people out entirely, they've won. But if we just go home off-duty…that will affect their Admins' schedules, and their bars will notice a drop in business. They won't be able to grab our people for extra duties, either. Let's use my office. I need to think for a moment."
In the office, Ronnie took a chair. Alan paused at the door. "Reyes – tea for four, please? Ronnie, do you need a sandwich or muffin?"
"Muffin, please."
"Reyes, can you then please ask Senior Admins Brock and Depoy to come to my office? Thanks."
Tea mug in hand, Ronald watched as Alan stood at the window. The window offered an unattractive view of the neighboring building's brick wall, but it seemed to provide inspiration nonetheless. Alan absently brushed a finger over a spray of purple flowers growing in a pot on the sill.
Frederic Brock and Dora DePoy arrived and helped themselves to the tea. Ronnie gave them a quick overview. "Our folks in Belgium are being mistreated. Will's removing them from the situation without withdrawing them from duty. Alan's thinking."
After a moment, Alan turned and sat down. "Dorrie, Fred, a problem has developed in Belgium. Will is pulling the London Reapers home. We're to set up a portal so they can move back here to their rooms and apartments. They will use that portal daily to go to and from the battlefields, according to their shift schedules.
"Now, for the portal, I think the man we need is Donnie Cole. He is by nature an angry man. His partner is not going to be pleased with this situation either – he's courting Tonia Asaro – so the portal will be installed today with all the newest features."
Alan picked up the phone and dialed. "Senior Researcher Donald Cole, please. Yes, I'll hold. Good morning, Ma'am, Senior Cole, please… Senior Collections Agent Alan Humphries, for Reseach Senior Donald Cole… Hi, Donnie, it's Alan. You're on speakerphone. With me are Frederic Brock, Dora Depoy, and Ronald Knox. Operations needs the best long-range multi-person portal available. And yes, we'll pay for it. Ronnie is going to tell you why it's a rush job. Les is going to want to hear this, can you bring him in?"
"Hi, Alan, Les Franklin here, how long a range d'you need?"
"London to Liège, able to transport a minimum of one full shift in and one full shift out, three times a day, movable as the battlefront moves, maybe keyed to glasses to reject anyone not a Londoner?"
"That's an interesting request. Who's Spears mad at?"
"Ronnie, please tell your story to these gentlemen."
Ronnie told, this time giving a little more detail on the women's response. In a reversal of the usual order, Cole went quiet while Franklin cursed fluently.
"We've got everything you need, Alan," said Cole. "While we gear up, please get Will's signature on a blank work order. The minute we have it, we'll get started. Where do you want the access points in Liège and Operations? Setup will take maybe three hours if you can defend us from anyone in Liège who objects."
"In Ops, let's use the War Room. This was always its purpose, to move troops. In Liège, within one easy port from Liège's Admin offices. Ronnie, can you recommend a good spot?"
"Right in our barracks. They're used to seeing large busy groups in the area, won't wonder what we're up to. Once they figure it out, we can defend it. But portability will be important. Liège is going to fall soon and the armies will move on."
"Acknowledged," said Franklin. "We'll install the portal in Operations first, get everything tuned up. Once that's done, dropping the other end into Liège should take less than half an hour. Anything else? No? We're going to gather our installation crew. We'll call you as soon as we're ready to start in the War Room. This will be fun. I have some ideas already. Cole and Franklin leaving the call." Click.
"Ronnie, I'll give you Will's orders. I'll hand the work order to Franklin and Cole in the War Room. You return to Liège and give all the rest to Eric as soon as you can find him, and to our Garrison angels and maybe Sandriel. Tell them everything. I'd do it but I have been expressly forbidden to leave London, and there's too much to be done here. Then start telling everyone you can find to pack up.
"Once the portal's ready, everybody who's already off-duty immediately comes home. Everyone coming off-duty turns in their Reaps, packs up their duffel bags and comes through the portal. Ask our Angels to make sure nobody stays. One shift later, everyone will be living at home and porting out for duty. From that moment on, we are going to indulge in a bit of profitable revenge.
"Tell Eric that after tonight, everyone beginning a rest shift steps through the portal at once. They do not return until their next duty shift. That means no overtime, not one single minute. No more being impressed into demon defense or protection patrols during their rest shift. If Belgium wants to use our people off-shift, they will have to apply to Will in advance and pay for it.
"That also means no more waiting in line to turn in collections after the shift ends. If the Belgian Admins can't keep up, our folks will still leave on time.
"Dorrie, they'll turn in their collections to your Admins here, who will process them all; then you'll tender a bill for that work. Let Will pad it with every service charge Fred and Bookkeeping can think up. When our allies complain, offer to have Supplies box up future collections unprocessed and return them, charging a fee for packing materials, shipping and handling. It will be astoundingly inconvenient for Belgium Administration. They'll complain bitterly to their Collections Branches, who will have to explain to female admins why we walked out. They'll get no sympathy at all. Ahh, Dorrie, fill in our Admins, please? Ask them to be ready to spread our side of the story tomorrow morning. I'll ask Will to kick any Belgian complaints up to Madame Administrator. Ronnie, tell Eric to send her the court proceedings. She'll have the ears and tail of any Director who protests. Sound good?"
"Yes. They'll have to beg to get concessions. They'll hate it."
"Yes, they will, and they will hate it even more when other British Branches copy what we've done. Because we're going to pay for the portal with those fees within a month. After that, it's all profit. Will is going to love that."
"Reprisals?" asked Ronnie.
"Once the war really gets started, I don't think anybody's going to have time for anything but their Lists. We'll just nobly aid our brave allies by lowering the fees and charges, once we've made our point and they've stopped annoying our Reapers. If they try anything like this again, the prices will be raised and surcharges added. They'll learn to keep their people well-mannered."
"Yeah, they will. Nothing gets attention faster than money problems. Pretty soon I think we're going to become a lot more acceptable to our allies because we're going to be the ones who rescue the injured; they haven't given any thought to that at all. Y'want me to post a notice in the barracks, listing the new orders?"
"Not in this case, not where others can see it. We just need a few messengers to spread the word to our people only. Maintenance, I think, noncombatants, likely to go unnoticed. Senior Richards will loan us a few.
"Fred, please ask Senior Solway to call Senior Richards. Just a couple of clever, invisible people over two and a half shifts, to start the word spreading. Be sure to check the medical stations for anyone injured. That way the shouting won't start until everyone's safely out. After that, the only people the Belgians can go after are those actively Reaping. They can't interrupt that. If they try to keep back anybody going off-shift, our Angels will step in. Then, if you will, please warn Housing and Maintenance that we'll be opening up residences, offices and bullpens. Tell the Cafeteria to expect a substantial increase in business."
"Good. That's good," said Ronnie. "It's bloody exhausting having to be on guard every moment. At least we'll be safe on our rest shifts."
Seniors Depoy and Brock left to assemble their minions. Knox finished his tea.
"By the way, Alan, who's Sandriel that he can tell all the other Angels to stand down? Eric says you're the Ethics lecturer, you should know."
"Tell him that Sandriel is a seraph on the staff of an Archangel. He prefers to appear as a private soldier of the Forces Militant unless more authority is required to further his own agenda. That's all I can say."
"But it's not all you know."
"Ronnie, I do believe that Eric's absence is making me cranky. Why don't you go open your office? You'll find Grell's nail polish there. I need to report to Will. If I don't get in there soon, he will come after me, and I'll have to listen to a rant before I can get our orders from him. I want you back in Liège as soon as possible."