Werther died quietly a week later, at the hospice. The man in the next bed reaped his soul, as the orderly on duty had never taken the Final Exam. He would only say that he had presented Werther for judgement. Werther's name was entered in the lists of the Lost, where Alan found it the next day. He visited the hospice as soon as he could slip away unnoticed.
"Humphries? Werther left an envelope to be sent to you. Apologies, I should have done it yesterday, but we're very busy. There's a long waiting list for any empty bed. We've been moving in three new patients."
Alan ascertained that no debts were owed, and was given Werther's only personal possession. "Maintenance removed the body. Supplies collected his duffel. Not sure where this bowl came from; not one of ours, and Supplies seems to have missed it."
Alan took the bowl to his office and set it on his windowsill. He wondered if it would become a symbol of empty promises. He opened the envelope. It held Werther's pay packet, a bill from a confectioner, and a note: "Senior Humphries, would you please send someone to pay this man? Give the rest of the money to the hospice. I've tucked your bowl under my bed, hoping Supplies won't take it. If they do, this note should make them replace it. My thanks to you and your angel. His candies were much appreciated by everyone here."
The sweetshop that Werther had patronized was a small establishment in the Human Realm. Alan carefully assumed a minimal glamour to hide the Reaper eyes. He kept the chill aura of death. Humans would accept it as evidence of illness severe enough to excuse a young man from military service.
The walls behind the counter held several shelves of large glass jars full of colorful boiled sweets. The room was gloriously redolent of fruit and sugar. Alan had a flash of some long gone experience, the taste of a lost memory. Or not lost, but taken away.
The proprietor accepted the detailed list of small purchases, with regrets; Werther had been a steady customer for quite a few years. "A good fellow, always pleasant, paid up every quarter on the dot. Said his heart kept him out of the army. I suppose that did for him in the end?"
"Yes," said Alan sadly. "His heart."
"People would scold him for not enlisting. Poor gentleman, always polite. I didn't allow them to badger him in my shop. Told them his health wasn't his fault or their business. The last time he visited, he did seem unwell. Please extend my condolences to his friends and family."
"Thank you, I shall. He is missed. Please make up a small assortment of the sweets he liked best? He kept a candy bowl for his co-workers. I will maintain it in his name."
"An honorable intent. Yorkshire Mixture, Rosie Apples, Butterscotch, Dandelion and Burdock, Blackcurrant and Liquorice, Clove Rock…increasingly difficult to get the sugar these days, people are hoarding, but this week I was fortunate…and a few extra of these Pear Drops in his memory...in cold weather he always liked the Winter Mixture, but that has to be kept in a separate lidded jar, because the mint and menthol will permeate any exposed foodstuffs nearby. Would you like to keep this bill? It's a handy list of all the sorts he preferred. Half price today, for you only. Thank you, sir, and," a quick compassionate glance at Alan, "enjoy them in good health."
Alan filled the candy bowl in the common room, leaving a note that the confectioner had been paid and leaving the address of the shop for any who wished to visit for personal favorites. Quite a few candies were left over in the bag. Someone else had recently stocked the bowl. It emptied more gradually these days, residents being fewer than before.
Alan returned to his office, poured out the remaining candies into the soup bowl, and left it on a corner of Bradshaw's desk for general consumption. Brock came by and asked if he might take one. Knox arrived almost immediately, always alert to any hint of sweets. Alan told them the candies were free to all, and why. They listened to the whole story, as did several passersby. Many listeners had known Werther when he was the cheerful, congenial First Resident of Junior Housing. Werther's fate would be common knowledge throughout Operations and Admin by dinnertime and would spread through Collections by lunch tomorrow.
Will would call Alan in for the standard scolding (No food outside the break rooms, most unprofessional, pampering the employees, a distraction from their work, encouraging socializing on company time, a slackening of standards, Humphries! Who knows what presumption might follow!) at 15:30 and would eject him in frustration at 15:45. The bowl would stay, if not on Bradshaw's desk, then on someone else's. It might have to travel around for a bit until Will got over his indignation. Soon enough he would transfer his anger to the treatment of his reapers who were cursed in the performance of their duty.
An angry William T. Spears was a powerful force of nature and a leader of opinion among the Branch Directors. As a group they might provide additional pressure for better treatment and research. Will would likely want the first complaints to Madame Administrator to come from one of his colleagues. Alan bet himself a cup of tea and a cream bun that it would be Director D'Acres of Bristol, whose employees had suffered years of poor training and were vulnerable.
At the beginning of his rest shift, Alan visited the cemetery. It had expanded farther into the horizon. Among the newest graves – so many new graves; so many familiar names – he found Werther's headstone, marked only with his number. He looked around; most markers had names, but a few were serial numbers only.
None knew better than Reapers that the body was not the person; yet it had served its owner to the best of its ability and deserved to be treated with respect.
Alan ruined a utility knife scratching Werther's name above the number. He rested his forehead on the gravestone and offered an incoherent prayer for an unforgiven reaper and a truly gentle man.
Eric met him at the gate to offer a handkerchief and take him home.
That evening, Smitty installed a slightly larger keypad on the doorframe. "New model. Special destination on this one. Suggested by a North American reaper. He calls it the Flowering Bushwhack. It's a Sonora Desert location, a patch of cholla jumping cactus and ocatilla, which is long sticks with thorns all over. Kincade said it's inhabited by Gila monsters, skunks, huge spiders, and a sidewinder. Which is not a pocket watch, by the way. It's a highly specialized viper with a filthy temper. Security will get an alarm if somebody triggers the mechanism."
"I am properly impressed," marvelled Alan. "I hope they get to point and laugh."
"If the intruder is not an angel or a demon, it will take three ports minimum to get him back. Several people will get to point and laugh. You can set your code now. How do you like this new place?"
"It is very comfortable. At first we felt like trespassers. We're starting to grow into it. Would you like tea? I have a seed cake."
"Yes, if you don't mind, that would be very welcome."
"We'll need to be quiet, Eric's asleep."
"Oh, this is a great apartment! Perhaps Dutch and I should upgrade. I keep forgetting that I'm entitled. But we need a highly customized arrangement if he's to stay on as my roommate. Probably best just to ask for newer furniture in our double."
"You are a full Engineer now, are you not? Belated congratulations."
"Thanks. I barely noticed the promotion, we were so busy with the new scythe demands. Milk, please—oh, this is good. Where did you get this tea, if I may ask?"
"It was a gift. Probably can't get more, so we should enjoy it while it lasts."
"What happened to this utility knife?"
"War. I hoped that it could be re-honed."
"You need to turn it in. Otherwise it could end up in the hands of someone who won't know it's broken until it's too late. See here where it's cracked? It's just waiting to fly apart. If you let me take it, I'll find you a new one of the same size but a better alloy. Dutch can hand them over to Bradshaw tomorrow. It'll give Sam something else to think about. They had an interesting experience today, and Sam's still a little hissy about it. Would you like to hear the story? It seems that..."