Definitely this apartment had been intended for a manager in the support services. Unlike the Collections agents, the Admins were allowed stability. There was a bookcase begging to be filled; a comfortable chair waiting to receive the reader, a lamp to light the book. A framed Toulouse-Lautrec Moulin Rouge poster graced the wall over the sofa. The walls were freshly painted, the tall windows curtained, the parlor floor warmed with a carpet. The kitchen was bright, stocked with the standard cookware, dishes and a small box of tea. Alan unpacked the tea tin which held their savings and tucked it to the back of the cupboard.
They emptied their duffle bags and put their clothes away. The bathroom had not only a large tub but a shower. It had been stocked with the usual amenities, of a slightly higher quality than they were used to. They found a portal newly installed in the hall closet, set to the London Office and with the ability to accept four additional preset destinations. A booklet of instructions was included.
Eric tested the bed and the sofa. The bed did not sag, the sofa had some bounce left in its cushions. Alan's pot of ivy (friendship, affection, fidelity, married love) welcomed the kitchen window as its new home. The sprig of mistletoe (kiss me, I surmount difficulties) came out of hiding to rest above the bedroom door. Alan shook his blanket out over the new bed, which was large and long. Then they returned to the kitchen. With silent ceremony, Eric placed his teapot on the kitchen table.
Home.
From the cupboard, Alan took out two mugs in the same stoneware which all Housing shared. He took down a plate and a sugar bowl. He turned on the faucet, saw that the water ran clear, and filled the kettle. He checked a drawer and pulled out two unbent spoons.
"I checked our old place and our current bolt-hole. Everything's out. Smitty will install his lock tonight and give us the code tomorrow. This apartment is really very nice, isn't it? I hope we are here long enough to get used to it. Have you ever seen an apartment so handsome?"
"Och, aye, Will's stuck in his job forever, so Grell's done their place up a treat. I got to see it because she needed me to help Will rearrange furniture. Will won't admit it but he's proud of her work, especially the curtains. See, she used to, ah, walk out with angels before she and Will made their vows. The angels usually wound up wandering the streets in their undertunics. Grell made her curtains out of their robes. She also reupholstered Will's easy chair and footrest with the same fabric. Will rests his seat and feet on an angel's robe every evening. Makes his whole day."
The kettle sang. The teapot was scoured with boiling water, tea leaves were added and the teapot filled. Eric had a few packets of sugar in a pocket, saved from dinner in the cafeteria; they went into the sugar bowl. Alan contributed a few biscuits from the same source and laid them on the plate. They sat down, shifted their weight back and forth, and grinned at each other; neither chair was wobbly.
"Admins of middle rank do well for themselves, do they not?"
"They do. Evidently reapers are also entitled but Housing doesn't mention it. Probably because we tend to create a lot of turnover."
"Ach, well now, Admins do spend more time in quarters. They don't do the double shifts, or if they do the shifts are shorter. They don't get reassigned without notice, and they aren't in constant danger."
One could get used to this, Alan thought. It would be unwise. At any time, they might have to leave. But for the moment, the luxury could be enjoyed. Definitely they should have Smitty secure the door. One might argue that a defensible apartment with no neighbors on the floor would not need to be abandoned. The Angels must have access to Housing's records, so constant relocation would not be that much protection. Should the windows likewise be locked? Barred? No, dammit, he would not jail himself. Better to accept, be ready to attack or run, and ask Mari's tutelage on getting the bolt-hole a comfortable bed so Eric would not have backaches when he woke.
"We need to do something nice for Mari. Do you think a bouquet or a fruit basket would be welcome? Or a tin of the finest Indian tea, with a real porcelain cup and saucer in a pretty pattern? Since Admins can keep such things?"
"I will ask Brock and Liz what would be most acceptable to an Admin to whom we owe an enormous debt. Hae ye noted that reading chair?"
"Oh yes, and the well-sprung bed, long enough for you and wide enough for us. Let's make up a shopping list of the basic staples. I'll fill it on the way back from teaching tomorrow. Nothing fancy just yet, we're too busy to cook. Sugar, cream, biscuits, better tea, coffee. Do we have a coffee maker?"
Eric rose. "Let me check yon cabinet—ah, yes, here we are, a simple drip carafe and a box of filters, even a coffee grinder. Put coffee on the list, then. Some ale or beer. Shortbread and biscuits for the table and maybe whatever fruit is in season. Bread and butter. A bit of cheese. Now then, let's have our tea and pretend we're not refugees from the catacombs, squatting in an unattended house while the owners enjoy a seaside vacation."
Alan poured tea and decided that Eric would defend that reading chair with all his might and every possible boobytrap.
"Have ye any word on how Fancher's doing?"
"Still blind. You'd know more about it than I. You went through that once, didn't you?"
"Aye, was blind for nearly a month, drove me boss spare trying to schedule around me. I witnessed a death match between an Angel and a Fallen. They both lost. Scorched the earth for a mile. It's why me glasses are tinted. Most can go back to ordinary spectacles after a while, but Anderson says I'll always be a little light-sensitive."
"Really? The Academy teaches that injured Reapers always heal to their original state. Is that one of their convenient glosses?"
"Maybe. I didn't that time, not quite. Doesn't bother me any. Possibly the severity bent the rules a bit; they pretty well burnt me face off. But Charlie should be fine in a week, not least because he'll be allowed to rest. No paperwork shifts while he's blind."
"May I mention that to Dr. Collins? He's studying Angelic injuries to Reapers, because they take longer to heal."
"Tell him if ye like. Pops Anderson can verify it. Glasgow might still have the medical records. Me boss transferred me to London right after, said it was for the better eye care. Truth was, he considered me unlucky."
"About our bolt-hole. There are a disturbing number of empty rooms on that floor—so empty that people can go in and shop around for furniture. Eric, how many have we lost? Are we having trouble scheduling?"
"We are losing people. We can still cover our shifts because we planned for this. Some have been transferred to Branches whose staffing has fallen too low. Mostly because they didn't recruit heavily enough in the prewar years. Or they slacked off on training. Some have been promoted into management in smaller branches. Some are on loan to branches along the battle lines. Some are known to be Lost. And some are unavailable."
"Unavailable?"
"Unavailable. I cannae say more."
"You needn't. I already know. Werther, and many more across Britain. They've been reaping the souls killed in combat. The souls don't realize they are dead. They attack their Reapers as they attacked their foes. Anger, hatred and battle madness, laying the curse upon us. The missing Reapers have the Thorns."
"Ach, who told you that?"
"A friend, the rooms downstairs, my own experiences. But officially, you told me, just now, when you gave me the authorized official version. The Reapers are unavailable, when every Reaper is needed. Therefore, there is a reason they cannot Reap. They're being isolated from other Reapers who would ask questions. Therefore, there are questions that must not be asked. It all boils down to Reapers who cannot risk having a Thorns attack while working on the front lines. They've been tucked away in the support services. Their glasses have been disconnected from their Branch monitoring systems. It's not going to work, you know."
Eric chuckled grimly. Alan looked up, then continued.
"If I can decode this, so can anyone else. Ten Hagen obviously suspects, and I'm sure his partner Terry knows from working Personnel in Bristol. Medical knows, of course. They are looking for a treatment with their Uppers' approval. They have recently received orders to be silent. The doctors whose patients are affected will not obey. The managers of the support services have to know, so they can deal with an employee having a seizure. When that happens there will be witnesses. Face it, this is already going public. There is no way to keep it quiet even if they scythe all the victims. Which has already been suggested in a roundabout fashion by those utter bastards in Medical Research."
"And bless yer wee heart for saying so. Because now I can go to Will and say, 'The plan's a bust. Me partner knew better days ago and it's becoming common knowledge in the dorms.' Now he can ask awkward questions about what's being done for these poor fellows. We must care for our own, for nobody else is going to, and so I will tell him."
"They abandoned me when I was cursed. Will hired Ronald on the assumption he would be fully trained before I became too ill to work. One of his very few mistakes. But these days, this many cannot be spared or replaced. Remind Will that this war is only the first disaster."
"Indeed. I'll also tell him that the Russian Academies' class sizes are still increasing. That should get somebody's attention. Pour me another?"
Alan poured. "Give Will all your information, everything you have or suspect, and a little time to think about all this. He's beginning to change and grow, Eric; he's planning on a larger scale than just London. I think Madame has been training him, all these years, for a much higher position. She's kept him here to mature his natural skills and to learn to overcome his failings."
"He'll hate being promoted, not that he has any choice in the matter. He and Grell would lose their home."
"Actually, I think he will explode into action like a hellhound unleashed. And do it from his current desk. But that's not our concern. Right now there are a hundred or more Reapers cursed with the Thorns.
"We have some rank and some friends, you and I. I will think about challenging some intelligent people to find a cure; I just need to find out how quiet or noisy I have to be. For instance, if I were to announce this at the Academy— to Academician Provost Pollard particularly— and they threaten to cancel classes until the matter is addressed? They won't just cancel exams because the graduating class would be thrown directly into the field in June. Anyone still alive the next day would be considered to have passed the final. But the Uppers can't field students who haven't had their final year of training without repercussions, and they can't keep Uriel from finding out."
"Blast Sandriel for getting into trouble with Uriel; he'd be our best hope of a quick intervention from Above." Eric offered the last biscuit to Alan.
"I think I should mention to our fiercest Admins that if our numbers fall too low, they may find themselves conscripted. Mind you, I will bet that a number of Thorns sufferers have already been transferred into Admin roles. The word will be spreading already. Dorrie will take it to Goodfellow, who will investigate. Auditing will report to Madame Administrator. And she can apply pressure to those villains in Medical Research—"
"And they will send someone to scythe you. Me Light, I ask one favor. Do not set yerself afire to warm their frozen hearts. I am beside ye. If ye go into the dark we will go together. But I would prefer that we live through this campaign, to love each other and to confound the enemy, and find more wrongs to right."
"Sounds good to me. I'll work quietly for now; I'll start on Thursday at the Scythe and Skull. I'll plot and plan as Will has taught me. You let me know what decisions are handed down. If you don't, I'll assume you've been silenced."