Senior Collections Agent Eric Slingby (London) to Color-Sergeant Frank Bourne, London Garrison, 4 May 1917
"…Tea in a green and gold tin with a sailing ship on the front. It appeared on Alan's desk a while back. He thinks it may be from Sandriel or another Celestial named Matthias. He served some to a Reaper who has a new case of Thorns. Alan wants Sandriel to know that it seems to stop the curse's progress—maybe—and it does ease the pain, and increases appetite. Our Medical services have confiscated the tin for experimentation. Get us another if you can? Alan likes it and it does us good."
"Can you tell me any more about the tea?"
"Well, it looks like an ordinary Supplies-standard black tea. Remarkably pleasant aroma. No print on the tin, no print on the inner wrappings. Can you pass the word?"
"I will. Matthias, was it? He's not connected to the Garrison."
"I don't think he was ever part of the Forces Militant. Alan's known him for, oh, over twenty years now. He has a human family in London. Alan made a habit of checking on them every so often, partly because Spears ordered him not to. Matthias got sent off to war as a human and returned as an Angel. Alan was concerned for the wife and daughter, with their menfolk gone. He ran off any number of yobs who thought to burgle the house. I think the sons are both in your realm now. The daughter's a nurse in France. The widow lives alone. Matthias is there most nights, the sons probably visit regularly too, but they aren't seen by the neighbors. Alan's given the house the reputation of being protected by their spirits."
"Interesting… well, I'll talk to Matthias, too. Sandriel could not have delivered it. He was off being scolded."
"Who the hell is Sandriel, anyway? Besides a kid who was promoted a little too soon for his own good? And allowed to get big-headed enough to exceed his authority and forget his manners?"
"Exactly as described, Eric, and don't complain. You've had cocky trainees by the dozen. It's working in your favor, after all. His current assignment will teach him a number of lessons, true, but it will also benefit your Realm."
"Alan's going to hold out for a complete cure of all physical damage."
"As well he should. Good for him."
"D'you think it will take long to find our cure?"
"No idea. But rumor hath it that his boss' boss' boss—that's Gabriel, by the way—is peeved and wants this resolved, and that Azrael is nagging Michael into fits. Michael is asking embarrassing questions about how all this was allowed to get out of hand. Have hope, Eric. Perhaps this cure will ease the distrust that exists between our peoples."
"Alan's hoping for that. Can't see it, meself. Too much history coming to light. It's going to be tense for a while."
"History?"
"You forget our Unforgiven dead. We do not get pie in the sky when we die. Ah, Frank, you are a good, true friend. But your superiors, your Higher Ups? They could have dealt with this curse the first time it was cast. Somebody somewhere couldn't be arsed to follow up, then or now. There's always more where we came from, aye? When Alan first took sick I prayed with all my might for him. I damned myself eternally to help him. I have never regretted it for an instant. They never noticed. From Michael downward, they never cared that he would die, and die Unforgiven.
"We've lost so many. Now we know they all died unnecessarily. Even now, when so many are sick that we can barely keep up with the Lists they give us. The humans vaccinate their troops against typhus to keep them fighting. But the Angels let us die and go to Hell. They would not help us now if Alan hadn't turned their own Law upon them.
"Would you believe he's such an innocent that he's not figured it out? Or if he has, he hasn't told me, and he would have. After all, I have sworn to be his solace in times of grief. He'll realize in a day or two that this cure was possible ages ago, and that the tea was available all this time. That Werther and other friends and so many of his students died needlessly. He'll be devastated. I'd better buy a bottle from the Twa Corbies and warn Will that we'll need a day off.
"Yes, I will be grateful for the cure. Not grateful to those Angels who surrender it, but only to the Reaper that wrested it from them. Can you think on it and say I should trust them more than before? Honestly? Poor Sandriel, whose error has forced them to grant us a mercy they had no intention of ever extending. What's the Angelic equivalent of river reaping in winter? Whatever it is, I bet he's going to have plenty of time to hone his skills at it.
"And Alan, who begged a boon they have never wanted to give; what revenge will your Archangels work on him? Frank, will ye warn me if they decide to come after him? Because we'll have to run fast and far to lead them away from our friends, and find a place to make one last stand. And that's not going to improve angel-reaper relations either. There is a limit to even Spears' obedience. Madame Administrator won't be happy either. Ask General Artois about Madame. Higher Ups hide under their desks when she comes visiting.
"Alan might be persuaded to give himself up, if they threaten his people. But I will not believe their lies; I know my people can defend themselves. I will know when Alan dies. From that moment I have nothing left to lose. There is no greater punishment than what I have already earned. Madness will give me strength. I will kill as many Angels as I can; let them mourn their losses as we do ours.
"Uriel will order your Captain to take me down, ye know. The Garrison troops are yer least experienced fighters. I will draw them into the Human Realm into areas that no one knows like I do. Even if you and your Captain lead them, few of you will return. Our blood will feed the flowers of the forest and the heather on the hills. And that will be my last gift to my partner, whose most secret wish is for a garden.
"Remember, Frank, another catastrophe is coming. We have less than a year before it starts, for our last big class of students are reaching their Seniority. Not just Europe, either. India, the Americas, Asia. Russia still has big classes coming along. Are your numbers still increasing? They'd better be. Alan's seen the first signs of what's coming. Who will warn you of what comes after it, when Alan and I are gone? I'll give ye this for free; twenty years after this war grinds to a halt, there will be another one even worse. Same hatreds, same participants, worse weapons. How do I know? How can you not? Think about it. Think like a human."
The connection ended with a click. Gently Bourne put the receiver down. Upstairs needed to know that Slingby's sanity was sliding off center. Or was it? Anger, yes, and grief for his friends and concern for his partner's safety, but insanity? No. Eric was perfectly sane. He had laid out his concerns and delivered his warnings. He was using four centuries of experience to plan his final resistance if those warnings were ignored.
That information needed to travel up many layers of management without getting pigeon-holed. Eric was perfectly capable of leading pursuers into a series of deadly traps. If Knox and Sutcliff decided to help him…
Think like a human.
A war had very nearly begun when Sandriel trespassed on the party at Alan's home. Two well-connected Admins and eight able-bodied Reapers were present as witnesses. Thank the Highest, Sandriel had realized that he had committed a grievous breach of local customs and talked his way out. Thank the Highest, the Reapers had let him go. Captain Elihu had been shaken. As a member of the Forces Militant, he knew a hostile crowd when it surrounded him and blocked all the exits. An excellent lesson in why you treated your allies with respect.
If the Uppers were foolish enough to turn on Humphries? If Reapers of the London Branch followed Eric into his last battle, and that battle exploded into a Reaper rebellion... Reapers were overworked, undervalued, denied both rest and hope, and armed; a traditional recipe for revolt. Nobody had ever considered a Reaper insurrection against the Angels. The Angels were, after all, their protectors, technically; but for years that protection had been grudging, scanty, incompetent, absent. The Reapers had changed their battle plans to protect their own, assuming there would be no outside help.
There had been direct attacks upon Reapers, including Humphries; his Branch might well rise to defend him. The managers of other branches would probably hold firm, but their employees might join the fray as individuals... Some Branch Directors might outlaw the rebels, and some of their workers would desert to the rebels and more would die as Reaper fought Reaper, and Humans would go unReaped. The Demons would rise to gather them up.
Now think like an Angel. The Reapers could not win. But they could certainly do significant damage to an inexperienced Flight. A small number, when considered as part of the Host. Still an inconvenient loss. If the battle expanded, Reapers could kill many more. They could also die in numbers that would endanger the Balance. The consequences could not be good. The Angels would claim a Pyrrhic victory, but if the Balance failed only the Infernal Realm would profit, and not for long. Would the Reapers consider the implosion of the Realms a fitting revenge upon the Demons and Angels alike?
Eric had said it. Humphries had seen signs of the coming calamity. This time he had not notified the Angels. Possibly he thought it too minor to matter. Or did he try and fail to get past Elihu's aides and secretaries? Was a message or a written report languishing on a desk or discarded as irrelevant? Had he not called Bourne directly because he feared creating trouble for Eric and Bourne both? Or was he too busy with other work…or tired of preaching into the tempest?
Someone was going to have to be very nice to little Humphries. Quiet, modest, self-effacing Humphries. Clever, clear-sighted, prescient, worrisome little man. With Artois gone to war, the Garrison tended to forget they needed him. And that they needed his partner, who was a good and loyal friend. Without Eric, Humphries might cease to function in some very important ways.
Think like a Sergeant.
This needed someone very high up. The way to someone very high up was not through the endless levels of commissioned officers, any one of whom could sideline the message as unimportant. Who was Gabriel's sergeant equivalent? That new fellow who acted as his conduit when required? Oh. Of course. The newly returned Uplifted named—
Matthias.