Demons on the left! Defenders attack! Push them back! Collectors, to the rear! Where are our angels?

London Dispatch

Grell, newly off the graveyard shift, swept into the office she shared with Knox and their Junior. She tossed her coat at the peg on the wall. "I need a drink. Several drinks. Anybody want to come along?"

Amalia Reyes, putting on her jacket, said, "It's breakfast time for me. I'm starting a split shift with Mitch. Sorry."

Ronald Knox looked up from his books and essays. "Homework. I hate it. I barely have time to sleep."

Grell snorted. "Your own fault for being competent in public. Slingby avoided promotion for decades by presenting himself as an insubordinate drunkard with an impenetrable accent. That started to slip when he met Alan. Now look at the poor sod. That's you in five years."

"Ah, no! Kill me now. Wait. Isn't there a rule? What about Hesseltine? Isn't he doing a five-year transfer here to qualify for a management promotion in his home branch? Can't I just refuse to leave?"

Grell sighed and shucked her jacket. She sat and rummaged in her desk for a bottle of nail lacquer. "Hesseltine's director is a traditionalist, from a Branch where traditions are observed. Will spent fifty years running a hellhole under an administrator who withheld all funding and discarded tradition as expensive nonsense. Remember? You were here. You were very new, but you were here for the end of it. Reapers died because of it. Will still pinches every penny till it screams and bites him. He always will."

Ronnie picked up a book. "It says right here that applicants for Assistant Director have to have served five years in another Branch. But Alan's been here since graduation."

"That's right, Ronnie. Which demonstrates that you're not going to be given that option, either. With the war, you'll only have to finish all your classes."

"Awww, man..."

Junior Reyes sat down and became very busy with the sheath holding her ankle knife. This sounded like an instructional discourse, not to be missed. She still had five minutes. Mitch could wait.

Grell continued, "Will did negotiate to send Alan to Carlisle. But they weren't willing to take the pair. Alan, yes, but not Eric. Eric's carefully constructed reputation bit him in the butt. That was before portals. Think about how a five-year separation would have ended for them."

Ronnie winced. "Secession. Six months tops."

"Two months, and that's the best possible scenario. But see? You understand that. Will doesn't. That's why he needs you to train for management. Will is a company man, blood, bone and breath. Without someone to counter him, he becomes a petty martinet."

Grell spread a bit of lacquer onto a spot on a nail where the previous coat was chipped. "Officially, Alan served his time at the Academy while already doing the job here. For four years Will gave him all the work without the title. He dumped the Budget on him, but 'forgot' to increase his pay until someone else shamed him into it. Madame promoted him a year early. And Alan didn't get the classes, either. Offer to lend him your books when you're done with them. I will bet you anything that he read them all years ago."

Grell waved her hand in the air to dry the new polish.

"Count your blessings, Mustard-seed. If Will did that to you, Alan would defend you. But if Alan is not here, you're on your own. Study the rules. Someday you'll have to pull Will up short. Watch how Alan does it. Dear Will always ends those sessions convinced that Alan's suggestions are his own ideas, and that their greatest benefit is to the Branch rather than its employees. He takes those ideas and builds upon them as only he can. He's not above renting Alan out to a minor Branch for a week or two if he wants to do something that he knows Alan would oppose. Watch for it. Don't let him shout you down when you know you're right."

"You'd be as good at this as I am. Why me?"

"Ronnie, I am completely unsuitable for this job. Not because I am scandalous, mad, defiant of the rules, or partnered with the boss; many Assistant Directors are all of that and more. I will not do it because I will not risk losing Will. I 've done it twice. Never again. Will needs people who will oppose him daily and don't care if they're fired or transferred to Patagonia."

"Has London ever had much turnover?" Reyes was taking notes. She only knew London as the most desirable posting in the country.

"Before Madame Administrator took over, oh yes. We had a terrible casualty rate. Seniors taught their trainees to leave as soon as they could. After she arrived, not as much, because conditions were rapidly improving. Since Alan was promoted, almost none. Since Eric moved into recruitment, we have a waiting list. Ask anyone who was here before Will and has watched the whole progression."

There was a rap on the doorframe. "Molly? You ready?"

"Yes, Mitch, I'm coming." She picked up her Death Book, still used by Reapers for civilian collections, and left the office.

"Molly's doing well, isn't she, now that she's free of Will's orders to guard Alan?"

"Yep. Catching up nicely. She'll be promoted on schedule."

"I will take her to buy her white uniform. We'll have Scheduling arrange her to be partnered with the strongest defenders. You see, Ronnie? Will is brilliant at business planning. But people? No. They are game pieces to be placed and sacrificed. He is going to rise high someday; but only if trusted aides rise with him, managing his treatment of people he does not understand."

"He has Alan."

"Sulking's not a good look for you, sweetie. Think, Ronnie. Alan might be transferred, if a smaller branch loses all its Seniors. If not, well, he has attracted the notice of angels. That's never good. Demons have orders to kill him on sight. His successes have caused some jealousy in other Branches. He's been assassinated once already, by a Reaper he tried to help. In short, he's just the sort of person who should have a string of backups ready to take over at any time. He's tried several Reapers as aides, all of whom have left for easier jobs. Start looking for another Reaper to join you, because it may become too big a job for one person. Eric's scheduling Ten Hagen as a part-time aide for Alan. He has exactly zero experience with Alan's office, which may be an advantage. Marisa Solway is learning; talk to her. She has the advantage of being a noncombatant and an Administrator, which has its own protections. She can teach you both if you let her, and explain why your positions cannot be held by Administrative personnel."

…Where's Burns? Fancher is off to hospital, but where's Burns? Is he taken? Has anyone seen…? Everyone! We're missing a man. Check back over the ground we've covered…Is that.. No, that was a demon. It's dead. I saw Burns over there earlier…There's someone over there. Hurry! Burns? Burns! Are you okay?...Stretcher! Stretcher!...Burns, did you finish your List? I've got it, pass your Collection to me. Stretcher bearers, over here now! Jonas, hold on…

Breakfast in the New Apartment

"I wish ye had called me to go with you. I've had long experience with angels, and they cannot be trusted. While they may not interfere with our work, there are no rules at all that protect us off-duty. Don't scare me like that, me Light."

"You were on the battlefield. Sorenson is, after all, a guard of your own choosing. If Sandriel had lost his temper at any point, we would have escaped. Not that he would make a scene on Academy grounds—"

"Too many witnesses, true."

"Or in the hospital—"

"Where Uriel's crew guards every corner and would tolerate no foolishness around their injured—"

"Also, he is not a member of the Forces Militant. He's not as haughty or warlike as Azrael's troops. Even when I asked my boon, he was not threatening. And this is important, love. He eased Werther's pain, even though it took both hands to do it. Could he be a different species?"

"When he helped you, 'twas but a fingertip's touch. But I didn't get the feeling he wanted to wash his hands afterwards. Injuries, though, are not the same as a curse. As for species, well, maybe there is something to the legends of loving, helpful guardian angels that the humans like to twitter about, but I certainly haven't seen any."

"Come, now, what about Frank Bourne?"

"One out of all the Heavenly Host? One? And if a superior demanded that the friendship end, would he find a more acceptable chum?"

"No, he wouldn't, and you know that."

"Mmph. I agree Sandriel has done you a favor or two when it furthered his own plans. Well, all right, me love, you were safe enough. But I will fret anyway. It's me duty as a partner. How did you track down poor Werther? Did Collins tell you where he was?"

"I didn't ask," said Alan. "I didn't want to get him in trouble. He'd been told to be silent. I have other ways. Thorns is a shameful condition in most countries. The cursed are kicked out when they can't hide it any more. Some starve. Some find work in support-sector jobs until they are too sick. Medical won't keep them for more than a day or two. The hospice takes in the abandoned ill of all branches, without the support of any branch. It's staffed by people who fled the Academy before taking their exams. They're an unfunded charity.

"I promised to try to get the place recognized as a Division responsibility, and at least apply for a grant for better food and nursing. Those suffering severe attacks are sent to Doctor Stafford, Tent Twelve at the Academy hospital. There are always one or two there. It's heartbreaking, Eric. But at least they do have a place to live. And to die; they would rather die at the hospice among their fellows, than at a medical facility which obviously resents their use of the bed."

"I can spare a quid or two."

"They can use it. But Eric – you're Personnel. How did you not know that one of ours was cursed?"

"What I am is Recruitment, Hiring and Firing. And that's only when I'm not Reaping or teaching. Only Avram is full-time. Admin counts the dead, and they missed this entirely. Might be a hole in the rules; Reaper missing, not our responsibility, we don't track secessions or desertions, sort of thing. I think I need to start a new desk for those missing and unaccounted for. As far as I know, that's never been done, and with our losses it will be hard to spare another person to a desk job. I'll speak with LIz Brodie. If she asks around and is brushed off, then we have one problem pinpointed. The other folks who should have noticed is Scheduling. If Admin reported Werther as lost instead of injured or missing, then that explains why Scheduling hasn't followed up on him, and we have another problem to investigate."

Alan waved a fork. "Admin is writing off and lying about Reapers who have the Thorns. I'm going to Will with what I've found. He may want to pursue this without too much fanfare. We're accusing another Division of screwing up, and possibly of screwing up intentionally, or even of screwing up because they have orders to screw up. This is going to go to Madame eventually. In the meantime, you can set Avram to look for other instances of Reapers declared missing and falling through the cracks. He only needs to find one. He'll then ask Will for a convalescent or two to help him, since Terry's Personnel hours are tied up with Bristol. I'll make sure the next year's budget will give us an increased head count and it'll be an official expansion of Personnel's duties."

"Aye. If Admin decries it as redundant, we can point out that it's a job they botched. They'll huff and screech. I'll offer to appeal to Auditing for arbitration. They will suddenly become very helpful if they know they'll lose. If they want arbitration, then that means the scunners think they are in the right. That means somebody Higher Up has issued a written order. That war will have to be fought at his level."

"But we can start it right here. I've got the lists from the hospice - those in residence, those waiting for openings. I'll give copies to Avram. As for me, today I am going to persuade Will to make a very public donation of some of the money which we won't use for the Gather. As long as Will sees it as a one-off which won't affect his future spending, he'll cooperate. He'll see this as a potential hiring opportunity if we can find a cure. I've started Sandriel thinking. If he doesn't get conflicting orders from a superior, I think he'll dedicate himself to the problem. But he did say that curses were more a Demonic specialty."

"Aye, they would be. But healing is his bailiwick."

"So it is, and I wish him joy of it. How are things going in Bristol?"

"Interesting times, me love. Interesting times. The death and resurrection of a branch. The original staff will slowly age off. They're being isolated by their own reputations and their inability to teach. Terry bribed a few notable fighters to provide training sessions – that's how I know what's going on over there; I've taken some of Bristol's folks into me Academy classes.

"The shirkers who've been forced out of deskwork onto battlefields are mostly useless at first. It takes them a few days to learn that they can't get reassigned to cushy jobs by sucking up or fucking up. There's been quite a few late bloomers among their oppressed, though. They'll do well enough.

"D'Acres is determined to create a model Branch over there. He has Madame's full support. She got rid of the three bullies who ruled the Branch. Their former victims worship the rug D'Acres walks on. He's deeply involved in reforming the Admin side, with Auditing running a torches-and-pitchforks campaign beside him. Director Ambrose could not have done his payroll fiddles without Administrative connivance. Housing and Supplies had to know too. Auditing wants to know who profited, and if anyone protested. If so, Auditing wants to know who hid those complaints. Sarah Goodfellow is having the time of her afterlife. Her team are all going to get promotions out of this.

"The office culture is changing. Some of 'em tried to treat the new transfers the way they had been treated. Some didn't know any better; some were just vicious by nature. Garraway stepped in at once, gave the aggressors the choice of learning new habits or leaving, sacked a couple of 'em outright. Now that the downtrodden are allowed to defend themselves, a certain amount of social balancing has begun. Garraway asks only that they sweep up afterwards and don't leave groaning bodies in the hallways where D'Acres can trip over them and complain about the cleaners getting slack.

"Quite a number are desperate to transfer out. The Branches, be they ever so short-handed, don't want 'em. Anybody attempting to flee after reform has begun is sure to be a sneaking snitch or a scheming bully. And, of course, they're forbidden to teach, or even to partner with a teaching Reaper. Maintenance has taken some for duty in remote locations. Supplies is trying a few on their assembly lines, very closely watched.

"Those forcibly transferred from other branches are determined that Bristol shall not become a stain on their records. They are overwriting Bristol's culture with their own. In a year or two the Academy will allow them a few interns. They will report on how they are treated. Soon afterwards the transfers will be allowed trainees. I'm quite proud of Garraway; he's doing good work. He'll build a fine Branch from his new people."

…We sent him here. His partner came here earlier, a shoulder injury. What do you mean, you can't find him? The tent isn't so big you can lose someone in it! No, not sure how badly he was hurt; I'm not qualified to examine a casualty. Let me ask Fancher if he knows what happened…already moved on to the triage site? Both of them? You're sure? We'll check there….

09:00, Director's Office

Alan gathered papers and a box of aspirin tablets. At the appointed time he presented himself to Mister Wójcik, Will's Administrative Assistant. Wójcik nodded, knocked on Will's door and announced, "Mr. Humphries, for your weekly meeting, sir."

Alan walked in. He laid his materials on the table, moved away the uncomfortable-chair-for-keeping-meetings-short and substituted the comfortable-chair-for-extended-planning-sessions. He moved the aspirin within Will's reach. He poured two cups of tea from Wójcik's tea set, gave the first cup to Will, and sat down.

Will looked at the aspirin, looked at the tea, and simply said, "How much?"

"Quite a bit, which we will recoup in the next Budget, for reasons both strategic and humanitarian."

Will glared perfunctorily. He drew the aspirin box nearer but did not open it. "Explain."

"Do you remember Werther? Very good Reaper, quiet, never any complaints, paperwork finished promptly, always willing to help the Juniors?"

"Reported missing but not lost. Last year. Would have been eligible to train this year. Glasses no longer tracked. Skullduggery?"

"Yes. He died two days ago, here in London, in a bare and unheated building which houses Reapers dying of Thorns. These Reapers have been declared dead or missing and their pay has been stopped."

Will went straight to the essentials. "How many?"

"Sixty-two at last count. Only half are British. The others have been expelled or declared lost by foreign branches and made their way here to the only place available to them. They are fed leftovers smuggled in by Cafeteria interns. They are attended by Academy undergraduates who have dropped out because they fear failing their exams. There is a long waiting list of invalids who are destitute and on the street. There is a longer list of Reapers who can still work and hide their conditions. Infirmaries will not keep them for more than two days because the beds are full of combat injuries. After all, there is very little they can do for them beyond painkillers and warm beds and food. A doctor at the Academy Hospital knows of fifty-three cases. He's been told that treatments are being investigated and are fully funded. He doesn't believe it. He's been ordered not to talk about it. He stated that Research has suggested terminating those affected."

"How did you find this place?"

"I dug around in our Administrative Stacks, in the name of budgetary research. It's part of my job, after all, and I find it most informative. Everything's cross-referenced to the other Divisions of this Branch. I traced Werther's Supplies history. Supplies reclaims all our equipment upon our termination. Their tracking is actually more reliable than Spectacles'. His duffel was listed as located on the second floor of an abandoned warehouse. That address was the hospice."

"Your suggestions, Humphries?" Will's voice was even and cool.

"First. A very public donation of some of the money which was originally set aside for the Gather, which cannot be held while the Hospital covers those grounds. Use it for beds, blankets, food and a doctor who can prescribe pain medicines. I want to embarrass other Branches into paying a share. We need to spend it or we'll lose it next year anyway. We'll reassign those funds to Personnel for the duration of the war.

"Second. For you, as the local Director, to make these requests: Admin to arrange steady funding at the Division level or above; Auditing to supply some qualified legal help for the hospice inmates. If Housing's been receiving rent on a room from a current resident as well as a 'missing' Thorns sufferer, I suggest the patient's money be refunded and a thumping great fine collected by Auditing to be used for the hospice.

"Third. For Madame to force Housing and Maintenance to register the hospice as an official medical ward. Beds and warm blankets, the entire building properly cleaned, staffed, supplied and heated. I want the Cafeteria to step up, too, with hot meals served on-site to both the ambulatory and the bedridden. One of their seniors is running a soup kitchen nearby for the destitute who aren't yet in the hospice; I want that made official, and he is not to be punished for setting it up. Medical can't spare many qualified nurses, but they can certainly train the escaped undergraduates working there. If we can get them certified, they'll be put back on the official rolls in official capacities with official pay. The Academy has students who aspire to medical careers. They should be sent on short shifts to help at the hospice."

Will thought for a moment. "Benefits to the Branch, short-term; the knowledge that we do not abandon our injured, which will improve morale and therefore performance and efficiency. We may be able to give them sedentary employment as well. We will be seen to be at the forefront of reform, and become an even more desirable employer. Benefits to the Division; It will destroy the secrecy. It will also transfer the expense upwards, a short-term problem but a long-term benefit. It will cause the Uppers to demand a cure, so that in the future the hospice can be closed or turned over to Medical as a training facility."

"You might ask Madame to have it used as a long-term care hostel where those on half-pay can recover fully."

"Impossible. However, it might well be accepted as an extended-care ward to allow the severely injured to recover enough to work a full shift at a desk; it's all in the wording. I will think about that. Let us return to the subject of the Thorns. The Uppers will press the Scientific department to accelerate their research; Auditing will demand transparency. Oversight might be a suitable project for the reformed Judicial Department as well.

"Benefits, long-term; If a cure is found, London will dispense it to all, thereby creating a pool of experienced, grateful, loyal Reapers available for hire at a time when staffing is a worldwide problem. We, of course, will recruit heavily."

"They won't want to go back to the branches which expelled them, that's certain. Fully trained. Battle-proven. Some, of course, may have partners; partners who would be willing to transfer to London if they knew their lost friends were alive and working here."

"Excellent. You do occasionally think like a manager. If a cure is not found, still we have done our best, given shelter to those in need, and annoyed the deserving. Now, Humphries. I am reliably informed that you visited the Academy Hospital with an angel. Why have I received no report?"

"I just finished it. Here it is. Sandriel was ordered to apologize for the uninvited entry and to grant me a boon. That's all. It's part of the weekly report."

"Who gave that order? What boon?"

"I asked him, as a seraph of Raphael, the Archangel of Healing, to find a cure for the Thorns. I took him to visit Werther so he could see exactly what was involved. Sandriel did not refuse my request, which means he'll try to fulfill it unless a superior steps in. As for the order itself, I'm not sure, but I think it was a joint command from high levels; Uriel or Azrael, and Raphael. It seems a bit of an overreaction, though, considering that Angels habitually walk all over Reapers. Did Sandriel think the least harmful way to achieve his aims was a simple breach of manners, protocol, tradition? Did all the guests spoil his plan? Did he see them as guests, or as potential witnesses? Or as too many to overcome? Did he only back off because the whole room forced them into indefensible positions and surrounded them? Could it be that Sandriel's aims have nothing to do with us, but with attitudes among his superiors?"

Will pushed the aspirin back towards Alan. "Insufficient data, Humphries. If the data was available, it might be beyond our understanding. Let us concentrate on the things we do understand all too well; our own Higher Ups. Madame is displeased with many, but not with us. Therefore, we shall let her work this out at her level while we pursue our own problems. Werther was an exemplary Reaper. I want to know the names of all London Reapers who are in desperate straits through no fault of their own."

Alan shuffled papers and drew out three pages. "The reapers currently in hospice, with their former Branches. The two waiting lists."

Will looked down the pages. "Bristol. Of course. D'Acres is in no position to help while the Auditors are there. Manchester, Liverpool, York, Hull, Leeds, yes, yes, all the major population centers. And many minor ones.

"Humphries, is the warehouse large enough to hold all homeless Reapers if beds can be provided? Good. There are several ways to obtain relief from a Branch for a war casualty, especially one they believe lost. We can use shame as a last resort. Far better to give them an opportunity to act honorably before Madame orders them to do it. Especially if they know the costs will be assumed by the Realm in the near future. The foreign reapers will benefit from the general improvements. In a month or so a public announcement that we are accepting Thorns patients, coming from Madame or from a step above her, should bring in those still in hiding. A good use of peacetime budget funds which otherwise might go unused. You will see that we reclaim those funds in the next Budget, Humphries.

"You will go to Senior DePoy at once. Tell her that a London Reaper was injured in the course of duty. Tell her that he was removed from the Rolls, that his glasses were disconnected from the Monitoring network, and that he was abandoned as one dead. Tell her that this was accomplished in a way that left our own Personnel officers unaware of his plight. Warn her that this may be a custom and procedure of very long standing. Even if so, this is to end immediately within the London Branch."

"Thanks, Will—"

"And tell her I issued this decree when you contracted the Thorns, Humphries, when they tried to take you away, and I want to know who overrode it!"

"Yes, sir. Request for someone's head on a plate acknowleged, sir. Eric has already begun some research into that. He'll see you today. He's going to bring Avram into it. This may evolve into a project that is perfect for Avram and Terry, and educational for Ronnie. Please think about encouraging it. I'll find you the money somewhere."

…Ma'am, we're looking for Seniors Charles Fancher and his partner Jonas Burns, both of London. They were sent from triage station number 12. Where are they? Well, can we talk to Fancher? Oh. That bad... I really need to ask him about his partner... The triage station insists they sent them on to you...Damn. You lost someone in a single step though a portal? Owen, go back to station 12 and check the beds...

What? No, sir, I will not leave. We are London. We do not abandon our missing. If I have to check every bed in every tent and every building, I will find the man you've lost...Sure I know who you are. You're the fellow who is going to stand aside while I search...

Owen, did you find him? No? They've doped Charley, he won't wake up for hours. They say there is no record of Jonas arriving at the Academy. I'm going to start a systematic bed check, until they tell an Angel to eject me. You go right now, roust out Personnel and tell 'em I've just been ordered to stop looking for a missing man.