The Angel towered above the two reapers. A raised eyebrow invited explanation.

First and loudest was an Admin official of great importance, as demonstrated by the clipboard he brandished. "This man insists upon invading our wards, disturbing our staff, disturbing our patients! Our records show that his teammate did not arrive here! Remove him at once!"

The second was a small, dark, furious Welshman. "I am Senior Collections Agent Rodhri Howell, once of Swansea and now of London. I am seeking an injured Reaper who is reported to have been sent here from Triage 12. If they can lose one of ours, they can lose one of yours."

The Angel saw the logic and agreed. "I assume, then, that you need to see those patients admitted within the last three hours?"

"Two hours would be enough. It is possible he went missing from the triage station. We're investigating there too, if it's any consolation. We just need to establish whether he's here."

"Very well then." The Angel looked down upon the Administrator. "I shall escort this Reaper, ensuring that he does not interfere with patient care, until we are satisfied that the missing man is found, or that he is indeed not here."

"That's good," said Rhodri. "Please lead on."

The Administrator huffed with indignation but scurried to keep up. He accompanied them through the beds in the intake ward, ticking off each patient on his register. There were nineteen patients there. None were Jonas Burns. One patient admitted seeing him at the Triage station; "Yes, Burns and Fancher were both there. Both unconscious. Fancher's hurt badly. I didn't see Burns carried through the portal. He was in no shape to walk, though."

Howell turned to the Administrator. "Is there any other place he might be?"

"Let me check the surgical suites; ah, only two are in use. Come look through these windows. Is your man here? No?" The Administrator was beginning to get into the game. "Let us try Ward Four, where today's injured are being sent after initial treatment. About fifty there. Please do not wake the sleeping."

The Angel was too large to fit between the rows of beds. He stood for a moment as Howell walked away down the aisles, then frowned, concentrated, and shrank to a mere six feet in height. He followed Howell until all the beds had been checked, occasionally murmuring reassurances to a nurse or a doctor. Fancher was in the third row, shoulder and right arm heavily wrapped, deeply asleep and healing. At the end of the room, they returned to the waiting Administrator.

"Senior Fancher is here, but not the man we're hunting. He should have been in the same group. He had a head injury. Looked pretty nasty but head wounds do bleed a lot. Could he have been moved to another ward?"

"There would be a paper trail. That's the thing, you see – I've double-checked; no paper. Even if he'd arrived unconscious without clothes or glasses, a paper trail would have begun at arrival. We don't have any unidentified patients at the moment."

"You're sure?"

"When you set aside the Angels and the medical staff, this Hospital is an Administrative operation. We live and die by paper. If your fellow's here, he's under an assumed name. It happens sometimes. One moment, please." He consulted with a formidable nurse, then returned. "If he came here, he'd be in this ward. None admitted through that door have left. None have died. We've had no one who was discharged immediately after treatment. For the sake of completeness, I suggest a quick look at the Cafeteria. Many discharged patients stop there for a cuppa before heading home. If we find him, I want to ask how he got there without signing out."

The Angel returned to his duty station. Howell and the Admin walked over to the Academy Cafeteria. Alas, the Cafeteria held only a few scattered students deep in study. Howell sighed. "My apologies for the disturbance, sir."

The Admin sipped at a cup of badly needed tea. "And my apologies for being officious. Senior Burns might have arrived here and left at once to avoid treatment. Some Reapers do that. I must say that I consider it unlikely in this case. All descriptions indicate he was not ambulatory. Please sit for just a moment while I review my records – they update automatically, rather like your Lists and Death Books. My name's Caldwell, by the way. My card, sir."

"Howell, at your service. Pleased to meet you, sir."

"LIkewise, sir. Ah. Intriguing. Intake states that Senior Fancher arrived here already heavily sedated. The triage stations use local anesthetics for all but the worst cases, but Intake agrees that in this case the dose was appropriate. Truly, I think your best bet is to look very carefully at Triage 12. War zone, confusion, divers alarums and excursions. A far greater opportunity for a patient to go missing."

Will stalked out of his office. "Slingby! Why is the Academy Hospital reporting a disturbance by our Reapers? Why is Howell searching the place, and should we send someone to help him?"

At that moment, Owen Hughes came through the War Room portal. "Eric! Jonas Burns has gone missing between a triage station and the Hospital. His glasses don't register – not broken, just gone. Fancher's hurt and they've doped him heavily. We can't talk to him. Triage swears that both were sent to the Hospital. Rhodri went there to check for them. He says Fancher's there but there's no record of Burns arriving. He's going to search the wards if the angels don't throw him out. Harmon's staying at Triage 12, asking questions, but they're very busy and we can't interfere with patient care. Everybody else is at Headquarters."

Alan dropped an armload of folders. "There's always the possibility that the Angels would help in the search. Any carelessness in transport could affect their own injured. Merrick, ask the Monitors about the glasses and why their tracking failure has not been reported to us. Burns is gone from our trackers too. Bradshaw, call Medical. Inform them that London is investigating a problem at triage station number 12, and that they may need to send additional staff to cover duties there."

Will turned to Duncan. "Go to the Hospital. You will guard Fancher. Notify me as soon as he wakes up. His inability to answer questions is far too convenient. Knox, Jacobs, to the aid station now. Take a few people for backup. On my authority, find the person who doped Fancher. Jacobs, you will question him. If he protests that he was under orders, then find the person who gave those orders. Knox, collect the person who swore that Burns was sent to the Hospital."

Eric turned to Brodie. "Liz, can ye ask Supplies to search on Jonas' belt or watch before somebody thinks to strip him?"

"Already done. A strong signal at Triage 12, their storage closet. A weak one at Lompret, near Lille. Supplies are homing in on the Lompret signal. Senior Richards is on her way with her backup team."

Alan called from his office, "Scythes is tracing his weapons… His scythe is in Lille and has been reclaimed. His angel blade is in Lompret. Scythes is going after it with a team of their own."

"Where's Lompret? Alan, give us yer map. There it is. It's a small Branch, but then, they wouldn't want a place with any traffic, would they?" Eric turned to Will. "Somebody grabbed him from the triage station right after his arrival. Call our people off the Hospital. He's not there."

"…Mister Humphries, Monitors say the glasses have probably just moved out of range..."

Supplies arrived in Lompret first. Their trace was weak but indicated a one-block area. Since that block contained the Lompret Branch, they were willing to assume their target was within that building. They entered the front door and found a large foyer containing a small desk. There were several closed doors behind it. At the desk was a man who appeared to be angered by such an invasion.

"I am Senior Richards of Supplies. We are following a trace. The source appears to be above us. Can you direct us to the stairs?"

"Ah, madame, no one is allowed above but the employees of this branch. What do you seek? Paper? Pens? Surely Supplies has all these in abundance."

"We seek a London Reaper."

"There is no such person here."

The front door opened again to admit several large individuals. One stepped forward. "Senior Richards? Johns, of Scythes. We have a strong signal from a stolen scythe. It's three floors above and a bit to the North. You, sir. Take us upstairs."

The Reaper at the desk repeated, "No one is allowed above but the employees! It is the rule!"

"He's stalling. We should hurry," said Richards. She turned to her group and ordered, "Try all the doors."

The Reaper backed away rapidly. Johns ran forward, seized him by the arm, and quickly divested him of an Angel blade before he could use it to port away. "The stairs, sir, or shall I apply a little torque to this limb?"

"Here," called a Supplies staffer. "Nice little elevator. Stairs next door if you don't trust the controls."

"Stairs," ordered Richards. "I've jimmied too many of those lifts myself. Senior Johns, as you have the stronger signal, will you lead?"

"Happily, Senior Richards. Gorman, take this fellow and sit on him. We have questions to ask him."

They pelted up the stairs. The second floor was the bullpen. There were a very few Reapers immersed in paperwork. They appeared determined to remain uninvolved. At the top of the next flight, the stairs ended in another door. This surrendered to a lockpick and disclosed a dim and dusty attic. "There's tracks here. Two men dragging a third. One returning. Shh. Stand by." Johns closed his eyes, concentrated on the trace, and ported directly into the lap of a man sitting guard over a still body. The guard quickly joined his prisoner in unconsciousness. Johns kicked out the false wall hiding them from the rest of the attic. "Got him. Lights!"

The Scythes men produced Ever Ready Flash Lights – a new item under review, which interested Supplies immensely. "Oh, my, how very useful!" exclaimed Senior Richards. "Might I hear your opinion of this device when we have a moment?"

"It would be my pleasure, Senior. Saunders, be a good lad and strip this scoundrel of all weapons. Block his scythes and tie his hands. The rest of you, find a stretcher and blankets. If anyone tries to stop you, take their names and numbers. If that doesn't make them back off, threaten them with permanent disarmament."

"Never mind, Mister Johns. We will provide for this Reaper. We can do it far better than this branch can. We came prepared. Woodwright, Simpson, lift that poor man out of that filthy hole. Ilson, put the stretcher here; gently now, and tuck him up. Strap him in. Very good. Now port him down to the foyer. We'll use their portal to carry him to London. It'll be that third door that looks a little newer."

In the foyer, Junior Gorman had tied his Reaper up with a curtain cord. As they examined the controls of the portal, two young Juniors arrived. They looked at the two prisoners, panicked, and summoned their scythes to port away. They were immediately thrown to the ground and disarmed by people who were not at all happy about the condition of the man on the stretcher. Johns ordered their hands tied with their own belts. Richards asked a few pertinent questions. Answers were forthcoming with only minimal persuasion.

"Senior Richards, Scythes does not have its own cells. Admittedly, this is a serious oversight, which we should address. Can Supplies lock up these despicable wretches until we have time to deal with them?"

"Of course, Senior Johns. We imprison thieves and black marketers routinely. It's simply a variation on long-term storage. It would be our pleasure to cache these men away for eons. Senior Ferris, please escort Senior John's people and their prisoners to London Supplies. Four solitaries, well separated, no contact, deep level 3B."

Through the portal, from France, in a blast of cold air, came Senior Richards and a Scythes manager. Behind them four Supplies officers carried a stretcher. "We've got Senior Burns. Nurse, come help! He's unconscious and has a head injury. Director Spears, four prisoners have been taken to Supplies' cells."

"Excellent. Nurse, he is to stay here on our premises. Do not send him on to the Academy. I wish a report on his condition in ten minutes. Hughes, go sit in the first-aid room. You are to reassure Senior Burns if he wakes up. Do not leave him unattended. Beware of unauthorized attempts to open its portal. The room should be perfectly secure, but I have had my quota of surprises for the day. Mr. Bradshaw, tea and biscuits in my office. Slingby, join us. Humphries, bring DePoy. Senior Richards, I am in your debt. May I offer you tea?"

Richards smiled. "How kind of you to offer! Yes, I should very much like to sit down. Let me just send my team back to their duties. Very well, my lads and ladies, fun time is over. Back to the salt mines with you." Her people grinned and exited.

Director Spears gestured towards his office, clearing the War Room for the change of shift. The office contained not only his desk and cabinets but a table with six chairs. Director Richards selected a well-cushioned seat as Junior Bradshaw laid out a Cafeteria tea set and a plate of biscuits. "The person you should thank is Senior Johns, here. We couldn't locate Burns with sufficient accuracy, and would have taken far too long to find him. His utility knives and more than half of his uniform were locked up at the waystation. I shall ask someone to consider enhancing the strength of our traces. Milk and two sugars, please, Mister Bradshaw."

Senior Johns of Scythes was a tall, spare, powerful man. It was a common body type among Scythes personnel. He, like Richards, spotted the Uncomfortable Chair and avoided it. Obviously the Chair was achieving multi-division notoriety. "They left him his trousers, though, and missed the angel blade strapped to his thigh under a false pocket. That gave us a very clear signal. We followed it to the Lompret branch. The Reapers there denied that they had him. We followed the trace to the attic. There was a well-hidden closet under the eaves. Shortly after we broke him out, two more Reapers arrived. They're from Rampont, a tiny Branch near Verdun."

"We have all four locked up and under guard," continued Richards. "Supplies will file charges jointly with Scythes. Black Market Activity and Theft of Scythes. You may wish to add abduction and Interference with Duty."

"Senior DePoy, do we want to bring charges, or should we step aside for Supplies and Scythes?"

"By all means, Director, let them do it." Senior DePoy chose a chair that would not rock like a toy boat in the surf. Humphries held it for her, then claimed the remaining comfortable chair. She accepted a cup of tea. "The abduction failed. We have our Reaper back alive, with no more damage than he might have sustained in a night on the town. Since he was defending rather than collecting, a charge of Interference might be dismissed. Supplies and Scythes can bring much more serious charges. Those people stole a scythe and an Angel blade. Supplies and Scythes both consider that a capital crime. The fact that the blade was attached to a Reaper at the time is immaterial. Besides, Sara Goodfellow is busy at Bristol. We should let someone else have some fun."

Rhodri Howell arrived from the Academy. He looked at Slingby. "I assume you found him?"

Slingby nodded. "Yes. Burns is in the first-aid room, alive. Owen's guarding him. We have four under arrest. Ye've done a fine deed today, Rhodri, but I need another from you. There's at least one more villain, the one who whacked Jonas on the battlefield. He'll be in the group that your lot were defending. Go back to Headquarters, check that group, get everyone's name, cross-check it with Scheduling to see if anyone left early. Bring yer team home. Give me that list and yer done for the day."

Howell grinned and strode back to the portal. Eric headed into Spears' office with resignation; all the comfortable chairs would be taken, but there was always the possibility that Bradshaw had stolen some of Brock's macaroons for the guests.

Spears addressed Richards with the formality appropriate for Managers plotting revenge; "Madame, will you question your prisoners now?"

Richards smiled evilly. "Not yet; we'll let them ripen a bit in confinement. I've ordered them separated so they can't collaborate on a story. The two from Rampont are very young and frightened. The other two are evil little weasels; the one who did the snatch, and the one who concealed Burns at Lompret. They were all very surprised by our arrival. As far as I can tell, they never considered that he might be missed so soon or sought so diligently."

"Please let me know what they have to say. Now then. Slingby. I know that expression. Whatever is this about?"

Eric was leaning against a wall rather than sit in the legendary Will-Is-Pissed-With-You chair. "Eh, Will, I think I know their scheme. There's a lot of little branches in the war zone who are undermanned. They're down to their newest Juniors, can't recruit or train, and the larger branches nearby are unable or unwilling to support them. They can barely manage their assignments. So, they steal an experienced Senior and deprive him of his scythe and glasses. They hold him for a day or two, until he's issued a local Death List. He's trapped. They'll provide a new untracked pair of glasses and whatever scythe they can scrape up. He's bound to the Branch by the Lists he receives. He can't go home without being accused of desertion. They'll use him to defend and train everyone else."

"This has happened before?"

"Och, aye, it has. Nothing new under the sun. Look ye, Burns was attacked from behind. One blow only, blunt object, no slicing or clawing. The attacker was a reaper who wanted him unconscious, not a demon who wanted him dead. They had somebody in Triage watching for that injury, somebody who doped him and ported him several jumps to Lompret. His glasses will be out in a field somewhere. They don't have the tradition of never leaving a man behind. Just their bad luck to choose a Londoner. The fellows from Rampont were the buyers. They came in through the branch portal and would have taken Burns back the same way. It will be interesting to know what price they paid. Question is, how long have they been doing this?"

Alan spoke thoughtfully. "With two of their reapers imprisoned here, Rampont may not be able to cover their Reaps. Neighboring branches will receive their Lists. Rampont will be folded into the nearest Branch and cease to exist as a separate station. If the combined Branch still cannot cover those Reaps, it too will fold. Senior Richards, you should warn Madame Administrator of a possible cascade of failures. If it happens, the area's Higher Ups may well demand that the Rampont reapers be returned immediately with all charges dropped. She'll want to think about that."

"Thank you, Alan. I had not considered how thinly staffed the battlefields branches are, or that those two Juniors might be an entire shift of their branch's Reapers. Senior Johns, shall we arrange a meeting with Madame and an Auditing representative? I would prefer to avoid Judicial for the moment; I know the Angels restructured their department, but I don't trust them. Better that they should be brought in by Madame and work directly under her eye and thumb."

"Another reason for Collections not to be involved in this case," said Alan. "France might demand that we replace their two Reapers with four or six of our own."

"Not a chance," said Eric. "For ten years we warned these little villes to hire and train. They kept saying 'The time is not ripe,' which is the local equivalent of 'Sod off.' The results of their decisions are France's problem, not London's."

"I agree," said Spears. "So will Madame."

"In the future, we may not have that choice," said Alan, but his words were overridden by Knox arriving with Jacobs and Randall Harmon. "We're back, Will. Thanks for calling Medical, Alan. They are interested in this too. They're missing an orderly. Did you find Burns?"

"Yes, we have him safe. What can you tell us?"

"Not much," said Harmon. "The fellow who said Burns was sent to the Academy now thinks he was mistaken. I think he's right. They're very busy. The humans and the demons and the angels are all in battle. Triage 12 is sending patients to the field hospital and the Academy nonstop."

Jacobs added, "There's a general impression that there might have been an extra orderly on duty earlier, but they can't locate him now. Ronnie persuaded one nurse to pause long enough to count their doses of knockout anesthetics. One appears to be missing. That's all anybody knows. We were very much underfoot, so we thanked everyone and left. Medical is hunting that missing dose. They'll be able to follow that up better than we can."

Senior Johns said, "We may have that orderly in custody. I'll call you when we know."

"Thank you. It might make Medical a little happier with us." The three left, Knox scoring a biscuit on the way out.

The nurse rapped on the door frame.

"Director, Senior Burns' only visible injury is a blow to the back of the head. Healing is well under way. However, the anesthetic given him is not recommended for anyone with a head injury. May I ask Medical to send a doctor here? He really should be seen by a doctor. Also, if his partner is in the Hospital, he should not be taken home and left there alone. We can keep him in the first-aid room tonight where he can be monitored."

Alan rose. "Director, shall I take care of this?" Spears nodded. "Nurse, I suggest we call Dr. Collins. He's, ah, used to us, and can be reasoned with. I can call his office directly from my desk and then pass the phone to you. That way we leave no evidence of you skirting any rules." Alan walked to the door, and Eric followed him. They escorted the nurse to Alan's office to make the call.