He had spent twenty years in the Human Realm. Hardly a moment, as the Angels judged time. Yet he had learned, and matured, and grown wise. He had raised three children, treasured his wife and valued his friends and neighbors. He had gone to war as a foot soldier and returned to Heaven from a battlefield. He had been examined, judged and promoted. Many responsibilities had been laid upon his broad shoulders. Possibly his return had not been soon enough. There was no denying that Matthias had gone native.
For one thing, he lived with his mortal wife when off-duty. Sandriel was learning the discomforts of real-world weather. A pelting rain rattled on the windows. A coal fire battled a freezing dampness. The house was modest, well-kept, welcoming and comparatively warm. Sandriel, a native of a realm which had mastered climate control in its second minute of existence, was doing his best to appreciate it. His feet were wet and cold.
An order had come down from on high; Sandriel was to meet with Matthias, who had been made privy to certain facts. Instructions would be given. Matthias would provide the conduit between Sandriel and Somebody who could not be crossed. Thus Sandriel was present in the wee hours of the night, in a humble human abode, while a spring rain mixed with sleet provided drafts and misery.
Matthias looked perfectly comfortable and perfectly human, sitting at the table with a cup of tea of Heavenly origin. Sandriel was out of practice at maintaining a human size for any length of time. Fitting onto the offered chair was difficult. Also, there was another entity in the room, similarly summoned. It too was angelic. It outranked Sandriel and was not at the moment particularly pleased with him. Matthias had politely offered tea and scones to both guests. Sandriel nervously remained standing, clasping a hot mug in his cold hands. He was deeply regretting that he had contacted Matthias earlier and sent him off on an errand. It appeared he had badly misread the fellow's current rank and position.
Matthias, having performed the duties of a host, reported.
"I sent a tin of this tea to his office, just as you asked. A good idea, should have thought of it myself. I owe him greatly for his diligence. While I was still a human at war, he kept a sharp eye on my home. My wife is known to be living alone here since my second son went into the Navy and my daughter into nurses' training. The house now has a reputation of being a very bad place to break into. Many say it's haunted by a flaming skeleton which throws thieves across the street and leaves them shaking with nightmares for weeks. Now, of course, there's a story that her husband's ghost visits the place as well. A house with two ghosts is quite out of the ordinary way; a source of community pride; her courage in staying here is much admired. Humphries also planted autumn damask roses of exceptional thorniness under all my windows. She's safe from peepers and burglars and slanderers, and loves the fragrance of the flowers."
"You offered this tea to him when he visited you here?" The second guest was evidently trying to decide if this was permissible.
"Oh, yes. It did him a visible amount of good. He looked underslept and underfed. After all, he had extended his protection to my family in direct disobedience of his superior officer. For years, you know. Or do you? Quite the history, there."
"I offered him a rebirth…" started Sandriel, hoping to get out of this interview as quickly as possible.
"Turned you down flat, too, I imagine. I offered him the same, once. It terrified and angered him."
"Why? Why should that—"
"You worked with him for some years, I believe? A good working relationship, respect and cooperation on both sides. Then you make a single blunder, and suddenly the association is embarrassing to you. You offer rebirth. If he accepts, he vanishes from the Reaper Realm, and presto! Your trouble goes away with him."
"That is not what I intended."
"That is exactly what his partner's been warning him about for the last thirty years. Bravo, sir. A fine betrayal. You've verified Slingby's suspicions and demonstrated that your friendship for Humphries was never more than toleration. It ended the moment it hit a snag. You err, he pays, all forgotten. Not what you intended, perhaps, but that's how it looks to him, and to me, and anybody else standing by. Especially all those guests who are sure they prevented the abduction and execution of an injured friend."
Sandriel spluttered in denial. The other guest looked at him sternly until he subsided. Matthias carried on, with the relish of one who has orders to speak the plain truth.
"Let me guess. He refused politely. He asked a boon for his people rather than himself. He and his partner moved to an obscure cranny in the London catacombs where you haven't an ant's chance of finding them. Right? Oh, do stop pacing. You'll wake up my wife. Sit down a moment and I'll explain.
"Reapers are not fallen angels or rising demons. They are human souls in modified human bodies. Have you ever lived in the human world as a human? Of course not. Listen. Humans fall deeply in love and promise to stay together forever. Forever, for them, might be as much as fifty years. The blink of an eye. Not all are reunited in death.
"Humphries and Slingby are a bonded couple. You sometimes get that when two Reapers inspire each other to perform at a level far above their individual talents. The only thing they have wanted since the day they met has been to stay together. Humphries is Slingby's stability. Slingby is Humphries' strength. You didn't offer Humphries a better life. You threatened to rip away everything he loves. A new life would mean the death and damnation of his partner, the loss of all his memories, and no chance whatsoever of reconnecting with Slingby ever again."
"Should I have offered rebirth to them both?"
"No. It's not in your power to do so. Wasn't in mine either. Only the True Judge can extend mercy to the damned. Don't care how high in the hierarchy you sit, it's not your decision. Slingby's only way out of the Reaper Realm is a direct drop into Hell. Not only has he to answer for his first suicide, although he may have served well enough for some leniency there—"
"First suicide?"
"First. He's been busy. He's a good Reaper with Humphries beside him, but a very bad man alone. Now, in 1888 our Mister Humphries contracted the Thorns. Evidently a fairly aggressive case. In six months, he was dying."
"But Alan's alive now."
"Mm-hmm. You noticed. Congratulations. As Alan became weaker, Slingby went mad. This was before their bond matured, so he would have survived the loss and gone on alone. He couldn't face it. At that point somebody sold him a load of horsefeathers about a possible cure. It was the only hope offered, and Slingby seized upon it in desperation. The cure was one thousand innocent souls, reaped untimely and off-List."
His guests gasped.
"He achieved it. His one-thousandth murder was Humphries, whom he scythed by accident. Humphries was trying to protect Slingby's intended victim, who was in the company of a demon. Slingby begged the demon to kill him; a second suicide.
"Forgiveness and rebirth are out of the question. Their only hope now is to stay together in the Reaper Realm as long as possible. When one dies, they both die—that bond again, a very mixed blessing—and Slingby will face judgement for those murders. Humphries will refuse all mercy to stay with him. Foolish, of course, for Hell will begin their torment by separating them, but there you are."
Sandriel was silent for a moment. Matthias poured more tea and waited for him to catch up. After two false starts, Sandriel managed a coherent question: "How were they returned to the Reaper Realm from Hell?"
"Never got that far. Their boss stored them unReaped in a time slip and petitioned for their reinstatement. He paid a heavy price for it, but it earned him their loyalty."
The second guest raised an eyebrow. "Price? What price did he pay?"
"His own enslavement in perpetuity, or until his superiors release him."
"Ah. I think I should look into that."
"It's intriguing, I agree. That price is not something our realm would impose. The Reapers already had permission to restore this pair. It suggests that Spears was inconveniently due for promotion or transfer. They tacked on an addendum to keep him in place."
The second guest cleared his throat. "Matthias, have you ever considered—"
"No. You, sir, need me outside your line of command, under no pressure to varnish the truth. Sirs, my superior wishes to speak through me. Will you hear what he has to say?"
"We will. Please begin."
Matthias closed his eyes. A slight glow bloomed around him. From that glow a baritone voice echoed.
"Uriel, my brother. Michael wants this assault upon his Reapers stopped. He is investigating the origin of this curse. It indicates a violation of the treaties between the Infernal and Celestial Realms. Azrael demands that we save every possible Reaper. Raphael agrees that a remedy must be found. We have many people seeking information. He asks you to aid Sandriel in any way needed.
"Sandriel, you owe Humphries another apology. Use the proper protocols and include everyone involved. He'll forgive, but not forget. You must work to regain his trust. I require you to exert yourself to fulfill his boon quickly and completely. Report to him and to Matthias on your progress. Also, endeavor to reassure Slingby that you mean no harm. I will be very displeased if you cause him to withdraw his trust from Color-Sergeant Bourne, the one angel he respects." The glow faded until only Matthias remained.
"Alan is alive with no Thorns or any Thorns damage," Sandriel said quickly. "How was that done?"
Matthias blinked. "Too late, he's gone, but I can tell you. A Divine Representative repaired Slingby's death wound and rebuilt Humphries' body from scratch. That's not the cure you're seeking. You need a widespread curse-breaking. You also need a treatment to slow the progress of the curse until you can figure out how to remove it, and one to help overcome damage already done. Something like this tea, perhaps, with a few powerful blessings added. Not my field of study, of course. I am merely a humble scrivener in Gabriel's service."
Uriel waved a hand in dismissal. Sandriel bowed and took his leave, just gracefully enough that it could not be said that he fled.
"What a mess. Usually he's quite competent, at least when he's around where we can see him. This was just an excess of enthusiasm, perhaps?"
"In response to the original crime, yes. He's in nothing like the trouble that has rained down on those who started all this. That fledgling who attacked Humphries has been shunted away into a position he'll never escape until he overcomes his character flaws. The ones responsible for the education he was denied are likewise re-employed.
"The Highest is working His will through those Reapers. Yes, even Slingby. Torn and tattered soul that he is, he serves skillfully to keep the balance. We're supposed to allow them to get on with it. This Thorns upsurge is a demonic attempt to counter their successes."
"Humble scrivener, my tailfeathers. May I ask where you learned all this background history?"
"Gabriel is the Recording Angel, after all. His minions write down every detail. I applied to Saint Jerome."
"Librarian?"
"Quite. He has everything at his fingertips. Wonderful old fellow. Just don't let him get started on filing systems."
Jonas Burns buttoned his shirt while Doctor Collins added notes to his record. "Thought I'd be sicker by now. Stoughton was cursed about the same time and has had more attacks."
Collins nodded and scribbled. To fill the cold silence, Burns reminisced. "I'm an old London hand. I remember Humphries' illness. He got thin and haggard pretty quickly. Of course, work conditions back then killed a lot of us who didn't have a curse on board to help things along."
Collins tapped his pen on his clipboard. "You state that your last attack was the day before you were abducted. In your office. You went home and recovered there, then returned for your next duty shift. Your Thorns marks spread during the attack. No change since."
"No, not at all." Burns tucked his shirttails into his trousers.
"No Thorns seizure before you were assaulted. No seizure after."
"Unless it occurred before I woke up, no. Was I doped so thoroughly that I slept through one? Might have been, I suppose. Ask the nurses. But if so, the marks did not spread."
"Discomfort?"
"No change. Except I'm not feeling as cold as I had been."
"From my observations, you should have experienced an attack within the next week, perhaps slightly delayed by the bed rest while the anesthetic wore off. Instead…very well. Mister Burns. Come with me."
"Is this going to involve needles?"
"No." Collins gestured Burns into an empty office, pointed to the desk and chair. "Sit. Paper is in the right-hand drawer, pens in the center drawer. Now, sir, write me a history of everything that you have done since reporting for that last shift. Include your abduction and your awakening. Everything you did, everything you saw or heard, everything you ate, drank, smelled, touched, washed in, tripped over or fell into, whatever you were hit with, your treatment at the Academy once you awakened. What happened after your discharge, up to this morning. Everything you can remember."
"Everything. Oh. I see. Yes. Everything. This will take a while. I don't want to leave anything out. And can Charlie come in here? He's out in the waiting room. He may remember parts I'm fuzzy on. He woke up first and wasn't nearly as groggy. Doctor, you can save us a severe scolding if you have somebody notify Spears that we'll be late for our next shift."