Sorry for the delay, everyone. Not the plague, just a virus, but a very tiring one...

Will submitted to a keen-eyed, thorough inspection. He was wearing his best suit, newest shoes, and a shirt of the brightest white that bluing could impart. Grell walked around him, searching for any bit of lint that might mar the midnight cloth. She eyed his new black tie. "This event is supposed to be a gesture of peace and goodwill, so your stickpin is right out."

Will disapproved of wearing personal jewelry with a uniform, even when the uniform was a three-piece business suit, but the stickpin was a gift from Grell. It was a baroque pearl wrapped in a swirl of gold wire. She'd made it herself, for him especially, and it was indeed a beautiful adornment. For her, he wore it regularly. "The stickpin would be seen as too luxurious for our kind?"

Grell gave him a fond look. "Who cares what their unenforceable sumptuary laws might be? No, dearest. They might recognize it for what it is and get all huffy."

"A pearl?"

"It isn't a pearl, darling. It's an angel's tooth. Alan gave it to me after that incident with the angel who kicked him. Alan knows I love to create pretty trifles and thought I might like to add it to my glasses chain. Now you know why he always smiles when he sees it on your tie."

Will reached over to his dresser and picked up the stickpin for a careful examination. He tilted his glasses to focus up close. Sure enough, a fine example of divine dentition. Here in the privacy of his bedroom, he permitted himself a sharp laugh. He pulled Grell into a warm hug, and laughed again softly. "My love, my love, what an amazing person you are."

She hugged him lightly, stepped back and straightened his lapels. "Don't rumple your suit, dear. Time to go to the office and get the rest of your delegation spruced up."

Slingby had been similarly primped and polished. He and Spears exchanged the sympathetic glance of two men who have been bullied by their spouses. The glance was quick and furtive, as those spouses were present and in complete agreement with each other.

At the moment, fortunately, Grell's attention was on the other First Shifters who would be attending the ceremony. Jacobs, Reyes, Sorenson, and Solway were representing the Branch. Knox would hold the Branch in Will's absence.

Always a natty dresser, Ronnie had paid extra attention to his appearance today. Spears approved. Knox's efforts befitted one who would serve as the London Director, however briefly.

Slingby edged closer to Will and murmured, "Alan's grieving. One of his former students died yesterday. I've done me best, but he's only become more stubborn and angry. He's going to insult the angels if we can't intervene."

Spears sniffed. Ah; rosemary. Three sprigs, in bloom, tied in white ribbon and pinned to Slingby's lapel. "Is Humphries also wearing rosemary?"

"Aye. He says the significance will be lost on any Angel who didn't attend the Gathers before the war. I warned him it only needs one to tell all the others."

"Indeed. Grell forbade me to wear her tiepin. I had not realized what the pearl actually was. I will order him to take it off."

"Wait, Will, best he does it willingly. Grell, me lass, can you do us a great favor? Can ye suggest to me partner that if Will can't wear his angel tooth, that we likewise should put aside our buttonhole posies?"

"Let me see. Oh, dear. His token of remembrance for lost friends is not as provocative as Will's souvenir of an Angel losing a fight. But it's still undiplomatic in the circumstances."

"Grell, if I give him a direct order, will he obey?"

"He would, Will darling, but he'd still be angry. We don't really have time for him to simmer down. Let me defuse him. Eric, you told him that this may distress the Angels, right? And it made him even more stubborn, because that's his whole intention?"

"Aye. Another death at the Hospice, ye see."

"Wrong approach. I'll fix this. But you owe me, boyo. We are going to take him to the Twa Corbies and get him thoroughly sloshed. Agreed?"

"Agreed. I intended to, but ran out of time."

Eric held his breath as Grell went over to his partner.

"Alan, sweetie, what are you thinking, to wear a rosemary remembrance into a hospital? The patients don't need to be reminded that they're dying. Remove that boutonnier right now. You know strong odors can be terribly unpleasant to a sick person. Besides, I am told the tea has a helpful fragrance. Rosemary might mask it. Do you have another jacket in your office?"

Alan blanched. "Oh! I should have thought of that. Grell, thank you. You're right, of course. Eric, I'm sorry, I was wrong. These have to come off."

The boutonnieres were removed. The jackets, permeated with the enduring scent, were abandoned in their offices. Grell ordered Alan and Eric to go wash the lingering aroma off their hands. She urged them into their spare jackets and wielded a clothes brush vigorously, scolding gently all the while. When she was done, Alan turned to address Ten Hagen and Terry.

"I know this is too soon. I know this is scary. But we shouldn't be gone too long. All you have to do is step back and let the office follow its daily routine. Will or Avram ought to be back here in three hours. Eric might be back sooner, depending on how things go. If that doesn't happen, don't worry. It might mean that things are going very well. I'll try to get to a phone and give you an update if we're all delayed."

"Thanks, Alan, but why us? We're the newest people here. The Admins are the experienced ones."

"In 1906, an Admin group attempted a hostile takeover of Operations. Madame Administrator demanded arbitration. Auditing ruled that Ops must always be headed by a Reaper. We're now waiting on a ruling about the heads of the subdepartments. Sam, Liz Brodie knows everything you need to know. Dutch, since Marisa is going with us, Frederic Brock is your advisor. Anton Wójcik will support Ronnie. They are your sergeants today. They have your schedules, which we've kept to a minimum. Listen to them and you'll be fine. Learn, because someday you will be in these positions as more than figureheads."

Grell called, "Alan, get back here. Center your bolo. Mitch, straighten your vest and remember my orders. Avram, keep your hands out of your pockets or you'll pull your jacket out of shape. Alan, if Eric dares loosen his tie, put it right immediately. Eric, don't let Alan hide behind you or Will or Mitch. Will, dear, less disapproval and more gravitas. Amalia, stand straight. You deserve respect, even from Angels, and if you slouch you won't get it. Marisa, you're fine. Keep an eye on these people and cover up any faux pas you can. Remember, all of you, Sandriel is apologizing publicly to you and all the Realm. You owe him your best manners. Do not embarrass him in front of all the Angels who will be watching. Dignity. Courtesy. Respect. Gracious forgiveness, even if it kills you. Express sincere gratitude for the gift he brings; we want the Angels to be willing to keep supplying this tea as long as anyone needs it. Eric, don't touch your tie or I will staple it to your neck!"

Knox took up one boutonniere and pinned it to his jacket. DePoy took the other, demonstrating solidarity between Admin and Collections.

Spears gave a rare nod of approval. "Senior Knox, you have the Branch."

"I have the Branch."

Alan squared his shoulders. "Senior Ten Hagen, you have Operations."

"I have Operations."

Eric said, "Senior Terry, you have Personnel."

"I have Personnel."

Mallory tapped the handle of his scythe on the floor. "Security witnesses the transfers of command of the Branch and its Departments until the return of the Heads."

Ffoulkes opened a portal to the hallway outside the Hospice Cafeteria. Grell had pronounced a group entrance to be more impressive than seven individual arrivals, and much more polite than seven armed Reapers using their scythes to port in.

Will lead his delegation through the portal; ffoulkes closed it, then reset it for the battlefield HQ. "Right," said Grell, "I'm off to kick some demon butt. It's the easier job. Good luck!" and she was gone.

Knox sighed. "Anton, what's on Will's schedule this morning?"

Dutch and Sam looked at each other, and then looked at their Admins. Liz Brodie smiled reassuringly. Brock said, "Relax. We've got this."

They'd shoved four tables to the west wall and stacked mugs around spaces which would hold platters of teatime refreshments. Huge tea urns stood ready. Two more tables held thermos carafes. It was attended by eight orderlies who would serve the Hospice patients. This left an open space for the Angels' delivery. A pleasant aroma filled the area, promising baked goods. The room was not very large for a Cafeteria – the bedridden would eat in their rooms, and the Hostel residents probably ate in shifts. Those still holding jobs would find mid-shift meals at their workplaces.

The Chief of Medicine and the Cafeteria Manager, leading a small group of supporters, bustled up to introduce themselves. They had no trouble spotting Will as the ranking officer. The Hospice entourage contained no one Alan knew, which was reassuring. Hopefully none of them would ask why he had been away. The head doctor delivered a short speech of welcome. The head cook followed but was obviously anxious to get back to his kitchen. Will delivered a dignified and mercifully short acknowledgement. Everyone else concentrated on projecting a grave formality.

He looked around the room and was relieved to see Collins. They made eye contact. Collins came towards Alan. "Doing well, aren't they? This is a difficult assignment for Doctor Stafford. He was trained to believe that the Thorns was a punishment for Reapers who tried to experience life through the records of their Reaps. He got over that, but not being able to offer any cure is hard for him. He sees that the very best care is provided, but he cannot offer hope."

"If this tea slows the death rate, perhaps it will be easier to hope. How's it working on your test subjects?"

"They have less pain, no attacks, the curse does not progress; but neither does it regress. Mister Burns, for instance, continues to live at home and Reap with his partner. Mister Jones continues in intensive care."

"But he's alive, and that is something."

"It is."

Alan checked his watch. The Angels were due in two minutes, and they did like to make an entrance. "We'd better get ready. Will, can we please move everybody off to one side? In case the Angels port directly into this space?"

"Right over there, just to the left of the front doors," said Eric. "They open outward. In case something goes wrong." Will began to walk slowly in that direction. Perforce, everyone moved with him. "Ted, how will the serving work?"

"The ambulatory have been instructed to await notification. They'll come down in the same order as they do for breakfast. Mugs are ready at the bedsides of all those who cannot walk. Food is ready on trays in the kitchen –"

A cool downdraft, a scent of roses, and the Angels appeared in the precise center of the clear space. Sandriel, two major Entities, Major Elihu, and eight Angels carrying four large crates. One of the entities misjudged the height of the ceiling and had to readjust himself quickly. Not used to the Reaper Realm, then, and not familiar with humans. None of the London contingent smiled. Will would kill them. Worse, he would let Grell kill them.

"Honored sirs and ladies! Where do you want these?" called Sandriel. "The ceremonies can take place once the tea is being brewed. Alan? —there you are— who gets these?" But the Cafeteria manager was already there. The angels popped the lid off one crate. That wonderful refreshing fragrance bloomed in the air.

A Cafeteria Senior ran forward and held up the corners of her apron. Alan and Sandriel helped to pile packets of tea into the makeshift sling. "That should be enough for now, sirs, thank you," she said, and ran to the tables to drop off a few packets. As the table attendants fired up the urns, she vanished into the kitchen where more urns waited. Juniors grabbed the carafes and followed her. The manager bowed. "Please cover the crate to keep the rest fresh. Honored Angels, we have an airtight closet set aside for this, if you would follow me?"

As the crates were carried away, Sandriel turned to Alan. "Should be enough for a week, at least. The Reaper realm is full of individuals who are hiding their curses. There will be a rush when you announce this treatment." Major Elihu stepped up and offered a card. "Please use this number to request future deliveries."

"May I share this number with Cafeteria Manager Fanshawe? He'll know when he needs more. I might not be available immediately, so a direct contact would be best."

"Let us settle this, then, just in case I might also be out of the Garrison. Ramiel, a moment please; meet with Cafeteria Manager Fanshawe and arrange shipments of tea. On no account should this facility ever fall below two days' supply, whatever that quantity might be." Ramiel, looking thoughtful, headed toward the kitchen door.

Elihu sighed. "Mister Humphries, my sincerest apologies for breaching the oldest rules of hospitality. I am in your debt, sir, and you may call me anytime you feel the need to be worrisome. Bourne is also at your disposal if I am away or breaking up a fight somewhere."

"Is there any particular time of day when such a call might get you out of a tiresome meeting?"

Elihu laughed. Alan felt the warmth of the Angel's esteem. He relaxed in the knowledge that here was no enemy. This was fortunate; it kept him from jumping out of his skin when the two Entities were suddenly at his sides.

"Sandriel, pray introduce us to this Reaper."

Sudden alarm flashed over the bond. Eric saw Alan completely surrounded by towering Angels and… No, no, it's okay, don't start a fight… Sandriel noticed it too. He was familiar with Eric and had seen that protectiveness before. Some swift communication passed among the Angels. Uriel stepped back a bit. The other one gave Eric a cool nod of reassurance. Will arrived at once, using his rank to take some of the attention off Alan.

Sandriel quickly involved them all in the rituals of formal introduction. Alan found it interesting. While the Entities were naturally the highest-ranking individuals, with Raphael at the top of the pile, Sandriel treated both Will and Avram as superior to Elihu. Time in service evidently counted, even if the senior was a Reaper. Or perhaps this was a diplomatic ploy. Then Stafford, Fanshawe and Collins. Alan was introduced last and least, as was perfectly proper. Uriel, Will and Avram stepped away to begin a polite discussion of socially acceptable trivia, atrocious weather, so difficult to find good help these days, are your staffing levels as low as ours? Raphael showed a flash of humor as he complimented Alan on his choice of boon. He then turned to Doctor Collins. A technical conversation about the virtues and limits of the tea began.

Alan turned to Sandriel. "Thanks for delaying the formal ceremonies."

"Raphael is only concerned with the patients and considers any delay of their care to be inexcusable. Uriel agrees. Elihu's whole purpose here is to represent the Garrison to your superiors and improve relations. I will give you and all your friends formal apologies after we have dispensed the tea. Raphael thinks it will help a little more if it's served at every meal instead of once a day. Let me guess. You want to help the cafeteria crew distribute tea on the wards."

"Yes. But I've been ordered to stay with the main group. Impolite to wander off. Reyes and Sorenson are watching me for any attempt to escape."

Ramiel returned from the kitchen, along with the other delivery angels. They conferred for a minute, then changed their appearances to that of human women in the uniforms of Queen Alexandra's Imperial Military Nursing Service. They went over to the carafe tables and spoke to the orderlies waiting there.

Sandriel smiled. "At this time and place, I outrank their commander. Alan, the carafes and trays are filled. Will you help us carry and serve?"

"Of course. So will Mitch and Molly. Then they'll be able to tell Senior Sutcliff that you requested my aid and they never took their eyes off me."

"Uriel will be talking to Director Spears for quite a while. He also wants to talk to Seniors Jacobs, Solway and Slingby. Rafael will be talking to the doctors. Let's get this tea to those who need it most, so the walking patients can come in here and claim their share."

Alan went over to the carafe table where Fanshawe was helping orderlies in loading food and tea onto carts. "Excuse me, Mister Fanshawe. We are not trained in patient care, but we can push carts and carry trays. May we help?"

"Absolutely. Good morning, Mister Humphries. Nice to have you back. Remember when I used to bring you lunch at the Academy?"

"Yes, of course; you were feeding my TAs as well by the end of it, and got their food service improved as a result."

"I figured you were training me for the coming war."

"Well, yes. How did that go for you?"

"Oh, I set up all the battlefield cook tents in the beginning, and trained people to take them over. I still consult occasionally but working here is far more fulfilling. Thanks for getting this place recognized so I can run it full-time in an official capacity; doing it off the clock while holding another job was getting very difficult." He turned to Sorenson and Reyes. "Sir, please take this cart. Ma'am, this one please." He filled Alan's arms with extra carafes, did the same to Sandriel, lined up four more carts and the Angelic nurses, and said, "Right, everyone, follow me to Ward A. We will unload there, come back here to reload, repeat until all patients in Wards B and C are served, then start bringing the empties back. Nurses will of course remain on the wards to help the patients. Any questions or suggestions? Fine. Let's have a parade."

Four hours later the Reapers and Angels were sitting in the Cafeteria, sharing the last dregs from the tea urns. Will was grilling Elihu on the relations between their species. Slingby was commenting, as the only battlefield Reaper present. Avram was telling sad stories from the Human Realm to a fascinated Ramiel. There had been a discussion between Raphael and his angelic nurses. One wanted very much to go home. Six of them had decided to stay and work in the Hospice rather than return to the Celestial Realm. "We're needed here far more, sir. We're not leaving until the curse is broken and the inmates ready for discharge," seemed to be the argument. Ramiel asked to stay as well, "Just to keep an eye on the stock level, sir, as well as to give all possible aid to the patients. We can ease pain, and there is so much pain here."

Raphael was amused. "This is not just because this place offers the best cinnamon rolls I've ever tasted? Of course you may stay. Ramiel, please send a report on the efficacy of the tea, ah, once a week; and with it, I request two of these buns. Mister Fanshawe, is that acceptable?"

"Certainly, sir, a box of six upon demand. Will that do for yourself and your office? Or should I send a dozen? Because office populations, in my experience, always seem to increase in the presence of baked goods."

"Six to start, then, and we shall determine whether that number is sufficient. In return, my blessings upon your kitchen and its staff: no spills, no spoilage, no breakage, accidents kept to a minimum, and all mistakes serendipitous and tasty."

"Thank you, sir. We'll box you up some rolls to take home today."

"Perfect. I have a meeting later with a group of people who hate to leave their work. This may improve their mood considerably."

Molly was talking to Marisa Solway. "In all the wards, and here in the Cafeteria too, quite a few of the patients crowd up against one wall. I wonder why? Are they avoiding us for some reason?"

"Not at all," said Sorenson. "According to Ten Hagen, who visits regularly, they are all Maritime. Poor fellows are always as close to the sea as they can manage. The lower the tide, the closer they cling to the east wall of whatever room they're occupying. Most rooms here are arranged accordingly."

"Oh, how sad. Is that an effect of the job?"

"Don't know, but once a Reaper goes into Maritime they rarely come back to land unless there's a joint shoreside action due to a storm or a tidal wave. Their Branches are always partially undersea, or they wouldn't be able to staff them. They're so busy now, they can't set up their own Thorns hospice. But we're close to the ocean, and the orderlies take the ambulatory on day trips down to Southend-on-Sea. Dutch says it helps."

"They are tailored to their work, as you are tailored to yours," said Uriel. As there was no answer to that, there was a brief silence. Then one of the nursing Angels turned to Alan.

"My father sends his greetings, Uncle Alan."

Alan blinked and squinted. "Isabel? Matthias' daughter? Why, yes, so you are, and all grown up. I thought you were still nursing in France. May I congratulate you on your translation to the Celestial Realm?"

"Thank you. I do like it here. Remember how you used to play circus with us when nobody was looking? And how Mister Slingby would growl and grump and then join in as a Great Bear?"

"Oh, I am sure your parents were watching. Eric, will you growl and grump at Isabel for old time's sake?"

"Isabel? Isabel, me wee girl! Aye! Grump, growl, and a grand welcome to ye, child. How are yer brothers doing?"

"They're serving with the Forces Muscular, of course, what else? Expect to see them enter the London Garrison soon."

"Good, then, remember me to them. Are ye going to be another haunt in your mother's house the while?"

"Yes, Uncle Eric, as the neighborhood toughs are growing bolder. My father and brothers and I take it in shifts. But it's Uncle Alan who scares them."

"Be careful, then, or somebody who covets your house will accuse yer mum of witchcraft."

"And if they do," said Alan at his mildest, "let me know."

Will leaned forward to glare at Alan, but before he could deliver an unenforceable order, Sandriel spoke quickly. "The household is under Gabriel's protection." He took a deep breath. "Alan, Eric. Director Spears, Seniors Jacobs, Solway, Sorenson, Reyes. Please accept my most heartfelt apologies for my ill-bred breach of hospitality. It is my greatest determination that I shall repay you with a cure for the Thorns; not only that the curse shall be forever broken, but that the sufferers shall be returned to full health. Myself and many other angels in our Host are working on it. We report to Uriel regularly. In the future, I will also report our progress to you. Will Thursday nights at the Scythe and Skull be acceptable?"

"Aye," said Eric, to keep Will from objecting. "That will be excellent. It's also a fine place to announce news ye want spread quickly."

"Thursdays, then."