The Cafeteria was a little too brightly lit, full of people changing shifts. Eric and Alan were tucking into hot breakfasts. Avram was poking wearily at his dinner. Eric opened with, "There's been a very strange development in Brussels. A demon appeared to some Reapers and did not attack. He carried a bag and a List. He seems to have begun a business relationship with the Administration Division there. The Admins are treating it as perfectly normal. Avram, have you ever–"
"Salt," said Avram absently. Eric pushed a shaker towards him.
"Ach, sorry. Don't need it. Just thinking about traditions. Now, in Russia, in the shtetls and dorfs, there were tales. Where are there not, in human habitations where all gather about the fire to hold back the dark? One persistent story is that a person who is pursued by an embodiment of evil may escape by spilling a bag of salt. The demon must stop at once and count every single grain."
Alan settled down for a good story. "Is that related to the ones about infernals being unable to cross running water, or to cross a threshold without invitation?"
"Oh, yes, all of those tales that assure us that even demons are bound by rules. Most fables have some basis in truth if you dig deep enough. Sometimes the truth is only that somebody made up a story to teach the children not to talk to strangers. Follow it further and you'll probably find a nasty incident where a kid did talk to strangers. But sometimes there is more to it. Tell me about your demon, Eric, everything your Reapers said."
Eric slid his tray to one side. "The Reapers were Belgian and sober at the time. They had been Reaping along the line of invasion. There had been an atrocity, ah, two weeks before. Nasty. Some of the soldiers on their Lists had taken part in that atrocity, not following direct orders but just because they liked murder and rape. We've all seen souls like that. The Light almost always refuses them, especially if they're already on their fourth or fifth chance.
"So they gathered them all in. No time to review the records, just wind everything up in a neat package for Admin to sort out later. As they finished, a demon appeared.
"He's barely out of his imp years. He's still rangy and scrawny. He's dressed in a uniform an inch too short at ankle and wrist. He's scared of Reapers – as well he should be – and he's waving a white flag and a List of his own. Seems he's been given names of souls to take home with him. The Belgians were going off-shift, so they took him along to Headquarters. They turned him and their Reaps in to Admin. That's the end of their side of it; they went off to their favorite bar, where they told me their tale.
"I went back to Headquarters and used me very best manners to find a ranking Admin. She told me this. One of their oldest, most senior and experienced Admins welcomed the demon, reassured him that he was in no danger as long as he minded his manners, and sat him down with a nice cuppa tea. She went through his List, compared it to our List, and found they agreed. She went into the Archives, came back with some forms, had him fill out two copies. Meanwhile she sorted out the named souls from the Belgians' collections. The records were reviewed. Sure enough, all were destined for perdition. Then the whole procedure was reviewed by another Senior, to catch any errors, and then by the demon. Everybody signed both copies with official seals; the demon had been given a seal stamp, though he hadn't been sure of what it was for. The demon took one copy, Admin kept the other, and the listed souls were popped into the demon's bag. The associated life records were set aside for delivery to the Library.
"The nice Admin lady told the demon to come directly to Headquarters with his next List. She gave him a slice of cake and another cuppa, asked after his health, and told him to drink plenty of milk while he was still growing. She had Security issue him an identification card and sent him off home."
"Oh, my goodness," breathed Alan. "This must be an ancient, traditional, accepted Administrative Process. I'll ask Mari Solway to research this in case we ever encounter it."
"Yes," said Jacobs. "It's used when Admin is overwhelmed. The Realms agree that every single soul must be accounted for. If the Admins on both sides get backed up, they will cooperate to sort out the Reaps. I saw this at the Battle of Borodino. Hell even handed back a couple of souls they got by accident. Because, they said, the books had to balance."
"What does that have to do with salt?" asked Eric.
"Just this. The demonic realm follows strict rules in certain carefully defined situations. If a demon steals a soul, he has to report it for documentation. Tell me, Eric, what is the worst punishment you can endure in this realm?"
"Overtime, doing paperwork for endless hours."
"Then does it surprise you that the greater part of Hell is an enormous bureaucracy where souls of the damned fill out forms in quadruplicate forever? Oh, there are the traditional fiery pits, et cetera; but there are also huge, dimly lit halls where the damned are chained to broken desks and tottering stools, using leaky pens or typewriters with clogged, jamming keys."
"I think I may have to mend me ways," said Eric sadly.
"I wonder," said Alan, "when things go back to normal, if they ever do; could we learn to cooperate in some way? Could we cut down on demonic predation by reducing it to a procedure?"
"Will would – "
"I'd let Madame Administrator tell him."
"We'd both best be out of the country when she does."
Back in the office, Eric began to understand Alan's frustration. Molly Reyes had been given her orders, by the Director himself, in great detail. Will had evidently been in a right royal snit when he gave those orders. When Alan asked her to purchase a small flask for Eric– "Steel if you can get it, in a leather cover. Silver bends too easily, glass breaks, and absolutely do not get antique pewter, it's poisonous, here's money," – she only left after Eric had promised to stay with Alan until her return. Also, she tipped off two of his AAs and the head of Security to keep an eye on them both. Eric himself had a sudden urge to do a midnight flit to a far country.
"Me love, what did you do to Will that he has jailed you so?"
"Nothing! No, really, for once, nothing in all the time you've been gone. He's just not happy. Grell is beyond his protection when she reaps the battlefields. He's also just a little jumpy when she's home. Something's changing with her. He's worried that she'll start another killing spree with the next battle, I think."
"Might well happen. But not just yet, I think. She's well aware that Admin will report her if she starts reaping ahead of her List, or outside it."
"Will's habitual reaction to stress was always to start berating anybody nearby. Now times have changed. He can't take it out on Avram or Roland. They'd quit and have better jobs in an hour. He can't yell at Grell because it would worsen whatever is going on with her, and destroy their relationship.
"He can't go after the Administrative Adjuncts, because Operations would collapse; Dorrie would pull her entire staff out of here if he mistreated one of them. That would include Brock, who controls the cash flow, and Wójcik, who guards his door and schedules his every moment.
"You're safe. So's Ronnie. So are all of the other Seniors. He can't interfere with your wartime obligations. His power over the Branch Reapers is lessened. He has no role in the European war.
"He can't go after the Juniors, not with what's happening in Bristol, and not if he wants to continue recruiting the top graduates from the Academy. But here I am, and there he is, both of us locked in place by Madame Administrator. It would never occur to him to disobey her. But he knows that I might, and so he adds to my chains whenever he's upset, which is every single day for the last six weeks. I have to let him because his head will explode if he can't vent."
"Ach. I would have thought better of Molly."
"She's under his direct orders. She has no choice. He'd record any failure in her permanent record. Meanwhile, I'm training her. She's getting harder and harder to evade. Fast learner. And, of course, she knows all my duties, destinations and alliances. Even my lectures; she always sits just inside the classroom door. I make her guard the outside of the door during student counselling, though." A deep sigh. "Will's forbidden me to teach combat, did you know? The Academy assigned me more counselling and classroom duties this term.
"He tried to keep me from resuming the Thursday Night party at the Scythe and Skull after everybody started sleeping here off-shift. I think he did it because he wanted to keep Grell home. The S&S nearly went out of business when all its customers were housed in Belgium. I lost all of my foreign information sources and most of my local contacts. I can't do my job without them. They might as well put an entry-level intern at my desk.
"Anyway, Molly'll make a perfect Operations Senior in two years. She could replace me now, for the routine responsibilities. She's not progressing as a Reaper, though. Not enough street time. I'm not allowed and she can't leave me unguarded. Will's destroying a Reaper to create a bureaucrat. I've got to free her somehow. If I leave, she'll be too junior to be stuck with this job… Spears will have to promote someone else… He'll send her off to war inadequately trained..." Alan turned to look out his window at the neighboring building's rain-washed brick wall.
The hair on the back of Eric's neck rose. This had to stop. He stepped forward to put his arms around Alan.
"Well, me love, today I am here, moved back home and unassigned. Suppose when she gets back you dump all your deskwork on her. Good practice for her, right, all the forms and reports? I will take over her escort duties, and we shall go wherever you need to be today. For instance, out to lunch somewhere nice where we can fill the new flask she'll bring us. We can tour any Division you're allied with. How is Smitty doing? He's only a year from completing his Engineering decade, isn't he? Does that mean he has to grow a moustache like Engineer Crawford?"
Alan giggled. "I'm not sure if that's required for the rank. He could always get a strip of fur and glue it on for formal occasions. We can ask if he'd like one as a graduation present. Perhaps a selection of styles and colors." There was a note in that laugh that Eric did not like. He needed to get Alan out of this office, out of this building, possibly out of this realm for rest of the day. They needed to plot to return Molly to reaper training.
And if Will complained? Eric had a few words for him.
In the end, Eric simply challenged Spears to a match. "Haven't picked up yer scythe since I was deployed, have ye? Come on out to the yard."
Will tossed his jacket onto his desk. Without a single word he ported to the lawn at the rear of Headquarters. The grass was reasonably dry, the ground a little soft. Will summoned his scythe, spun around and attacked without warning. Eric was ready for him.
The match was furious. Will was brim-full of rage. It added to his strength but detracted from his tactics. It took a great deal of hitting, but eventually Will landed full-length and prone on the ground. Eric banished his scythe and sat down on Will's back. Will attempted to buck him off and got a sound slap to the back of his head.
"Stop it now, trainee. Tell me what you did wrong."
"I let my anger overcome my control and cloud my observation of my opponent's strategy."
"That's right. It's leaking into your daily work. Alan's unable to do his job and is close to running."
"We have been ordered to keep him safe!" Will bucked again and got another clip over the ear.
"If Alan runs to the Northwest Territories, inland Brazil or some other thinly-populated wilderness, he'll be almost impossible to find. He'll be hired at once and given new glasses linked to the local tracking system. He's committed no crime. He owes no debts. He's made no promises that require him to accept yer abuse. He is as free as any Reaper to change his employer. And so am I, Will, and I will go with him."
Another buck and another swat.
"Stop that. You have ended his ability to serve in any way, so he's free to go. Don't say that I'm deserting my wartime post. We're civilians, remember? I have other vows to keep."
"Your arguments are specious, Slingby! Ouch!"
"He's far too stubborn to be persuaded to return to an unjust imprisonment. You've no right to force his return. Wherever he works, he will turn in his usual outstanding performance. His new boss will ignore your demands. Madame's writ may not run that far. General Artois is too busy leading his armies against the forces of the Hell to concern himself with the flight of a single reaper. And if you have to tell Sandriel that you've driven him away, there may be unpleasant repercussions for you and London both."
Will snarled. Last night's rain was seeping through his shirtfront.
"This isn't like you, Will. Actually, it's way too much like you. What's wrong?"
Will took the opportunity to say a number of things that would have been totally inappropriate had they still been in the office.
"All right. I understand. Everybody's off to the wars except Alan and you. Grell's enjoying it in a way that bothers you. She comes home to find you already angry, and she responds in kind. Try this for a bit. Sign yourself up for a daily half-shift of demon defense here in London so you can blow off steam. That will let you greet Grell calmly each night with stories to share. Take Junior Reyes along and teach her your skills. Let her reap with other London-based Seniors. She's fallen behind in her training. They'll call her up soon, and she's not good enough for war service. I'm here now. I will keep Alan safe. Loosen your grip. Let him do his job and let me do mine. And stop telling the Academy what he can and cannot teach; he must do combat drill at least three times a week."
"Advice received and accepted for consideration. Get off me, Slingby."
"Remember, Will, that this war is only the first disaster we're expecting. Alan's work is not done, may not ever be done. Will you let him get on with it?"
A pause. Obviously Will hadn't considered that. "Yes…"
"For Grell's sake, and everyone else's."
"For Grell."