Wednesday morning, ten hundred in Operations, shortly after the Delegation has left for the Hostel; Senior Administrative Aide Anton Wójcik to Mr. Knox
"…Review and sign our weekly requisitions. On your desk, sir. Also, a request from the Academy for a practicing Reaper to give a Retrievals lecture on partial reclamations, Tuesday morning at oh-nine-hundred, one class only. Mister Humphries has done this in the past but is too busy now. I suggest you select someone who would be coming off third shift or who would be beginning second shift with an hour or two of deskwork before porting to the battlefields.
"An order for Angel blades from Supplies – you sign that as Assistant Director and address it to the Garrison.
"In half an hour, you have a meeting with representatives of two rural Branches. They have a dispute over each other's hiring practices and have agreed to abide by an independent decision. Usually, the Director would refer this to Mister Humphries for arbitration. Mister Humphries might bring in Mister Slingby if the problem involved recruiting graduates, or Mister Jacobs if it concerned luring away seasoned workers. Hand it off to Misters Ten Hagen and Terry.
"At eleven hundred, you will join a telephone meeting with Research, Scythes, Supplies, Spectacles and Maintenance about a new tracking system. Just let the experts talk, sir. Take some notes for the Director and Assistant Director.
"At thirteen-hundred, the weekly meeting with Madame Administrator – materials for that are on your desk."
"Madame?" said Knox weakly.
"I did attempt to reschedule, as Senior Jacobs is also out of the office," continued Wójcik. "Instead, Madame has decided that she is overdue in making your acquaintance. Please consider whom you will leave in charge during the meeting. Not Ops or Personnel, sir, as she has summoned all three of you."
"Us?" said Ten Hagen with considerable trepidation. The Admins covered their grins. Wójcik, a man of immensely superior poise in every situation, kept an absolutely straight face.
"Quite. I suggest Chandra Gupta to be Mister Knox's Temporary Chief. For Ten Hagen and Terry, Mountjoy and Kendall are the Seniors of longest standing, and were ffoulke's mentors. Or your own mentors, Senior Terry; Seniors Forbes and Brewster. Your choice, of course."
"Of course," said Terry, with an admirable attempt at dignity, while making a personal note of anybody who snickered. "I will ask Scheduling who might be made available. I believe that Burns and Fancher might also bring a valuable awareness of current events to the job."
"Thorns and the snatch racket, right," murmured Ten Hagen.
"Director Spears plans to be back in the office by fourteen-thirty at the latest. He assumes that the others will return with him, although that may not be the case. He will want a complete update on everything you've done, of course. Seniors Brock and Brodie?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary," said Liz sweetly. "Sam, you've a discussion with the Academy in half an hour, there's a disciplinary problem among the students bucking for internships. Their applications are on your desk. Go through them, as you and Eric and Avram will be making your decisions next week. The ones you reject need time to apply elsewhere. You should draft the rejection and acceptance letters, too. Rejects get reasons and suggestions for improvement. Acceptances are conditional on passing their next exams and staying out of trouble. I can give you samples from previous years."
"Dutch," said Brock, "There's a pile of academic articles to review for Alan. Just skim them for the little hints of actual innovation that he might pursue to our advantage. But I think it more urgent that I introduce you to the Budget. We've only four months before we start work on the next year's version. It's a huge undertaking and concerns every facet of the Branch, down to the last paperclip. We have to foresee and prepare for every possible emergency in the next cycle. You can see how Bookkeeping desperately needs solid Reaper input. But first, a shipment of completed Blades are to be handed over to a delegation of Angels this morning. There's strategy and protocol involved; you're the facilitator, and a Reaper your size or larger is your Enforcer. Mallory would be a good choice, he's done this often for Alan. Supplies and the Garrison tend to send youngsters to do the exchange. The idea is to keep them on their best behavior."
"Thanks, Fred. When's the shipment? Good. Mallory and I will go do that. I'll get back as quickly as possible to handle Ronnie's arbitration. Sam, you can join in after you settle with the Academy; if you have to go over there, let me know and I'll rely on Liz's advice. After that, Fred, let's start on the Budget. When we break for lunch I'll see what Ronnie's status is, and we'll get ready to go Upstairs."
"I'll check with Scheduling first, just to give them a warning that we'll need to borrow some backup. Okay with you, Ronnie?"
"Just a moment, Sam, let Anton give you the Academy's lecture request. Drop it off with Scheduling, will you? Suggest Mainwaring or Bascombe, they're convalescent and have time; both are good teachers. Ask them to fill it out and send it back for Director Spears' signature. Brad, could you brew the small teapot for my phone calls? Right. Let's go, everybody. Just another day."
The Delegation, returning from the Hostel; eighteen-thirty.
Will dragged the entire party into a meeting room where a tea service was waiting. Eric rolled up his tie, put it in his pocket, and unbuttoned his collar. All took cups and seats and leaned elbows on the table. Will looked around the group with slightly less irritation than usual.
"What have we learned today?"
Marisa said, "Ramiel will see that the Hostel is kept generously supplied with tea. He was quite affected by the suffering of the residents on the hospice wards. He is interested in one of his nursing team. Raphael is pushing his researchers and has added to their staff."
"Uriel's still solidly behind us, too," said Molly. "He has considerable influence, though I'm not sure of exactly where and how; angel business. Probably part of that is Azrael wanting all these experienced Reapers back in the field. Uriel thinks that tea and angelic nursing may stop the dying, but if they can't control the pain better than we can, it's going to be very hard on the weakest."
"I watched," said Eric. "I think they can keep most of them going for a while. Did ye note that one of his nurses couldn't take it and asked to be sent home?"
"Good," said Mari. "Let that one tell his Flight all about what their indifference has done to us. Most of them have never treated anything but angelic injuries. I think Rafael may send a replacement. I mentioned what an excellent opportunity he had to cycle his angels in and out of the Hospice for training. His nurses and ours can teach each other many skills and techniques."
Molly added, "Isabel – why does she call two Reapers 'Uncle'? – Isabel was saying to the other angels that the Hostel would be a good place for patients doing extended recoveries from poison gas and phosphorus grenades. Evidently that takes a while."
Alan rubbed his eyes, then sank his face into his hands. "Rafael's Host are willing to help us, or at least he is willing to order them to help us. The Hostel has a steady supply of tea and a set of eight Angelic nurses. It's implied that they may have more comfort to grant than our own people do." He sighed. "Exactly why they are willing to do this, when they've never been willing before, is an interesting question.
"Other things we have learned: Angels like cinnamon. Michael's Host are calling up the Nephilim currently living in the human realm. We knew that, but now Raphael's doing it too. They'll be drawing on humans next. They're losing soldiers as fast as everyone else is. Azrael did not come, his place is on the battlefields, but he did send Uriel. Uriel's less exasperated with Sandriel, who has made his apology and appears to be doing his best with the boon. They haven't cracked the curse yet. Therefore, we cannot hope for an immediate fix. I think we need to talk with the demons."
"Why?" demanded Will. "What for, and why should they talk to us? I know you, Humphries; should I become enraged before you go any further?"
"Might save time," muttered Eric wearily.
"Balance, Will. They need us. If we go, they go; and they are careful of their own skins. All they really need to do is collect the souls already assigned to them. Their overpopulation has been corrected. Attacking us is costing them too much. We are not the easy targets we used to be. Could we talk to Malpas? We actually have a handle on him, beyond his vanity; he is dismayed by strong women. The Marchioness Midford ordered him away from her children, and he obeyed. He runs from Grell. He'd probably go around to the other side of the planet to avoid Madame Administrator."
Avram turned a hand over. "He has no power in Hell. No ability to make agreements that affect any other demon. He's bound in contract to a single unremarkable human who was trending towards perdition before they met. He is using that to avoid being given larger responsibilities. He's no use to us."
"What about Dutch's Fergilept?" offered Alan. "He is an officer of the Fifth Circle Army. He owes Dutch a favor. Maybe he can refer us to somebody of sufficient rank to make a deal."
"Ah, gentlemen—" began Marisa Solway.
"He's battlefield," said Eric. "We want the local equivalent of the Garrison, and I don't think the Garrison would be willing to make introductions."
"He'd be able to find out, though," said Sorenson.
Will strove to insert some modicum of sense into this. "Humphries, you know that negotiations are going on at the highest levels..."
"Yes, and we do not know if we are represented at that level. Remember that they think that making a decision in less than a couple of centuries is being precipitous. We need to make our own arrangements to protect ourselves. Besides, the knowledge that the Reapers and the Demons are talking about an independent settlement for London might bring Angels to the table, or even hasten the high-level debates."
"Just London?"
"Just London. London Reapers and the London Demons. Start small, with something possible. Easy. Simple. We all agree to abide by the decisions of the True Judge. If it works for both sides, it will spread. It will make life easier for our depleted Garrison, too. Not that much change, really. Demons still tempt, Angels still inspire, humans still choose. Reapers harvest, the True Judge disposes. The books will balance. It probably won't last, but everybody will get a rest. Let me front this."
"Alan, did ye not promise me—"
"They still need me. I can hardly disappear while the Boon is unfulfilled. It would look as though they got rid of me in order to break their promise. That gives them time to realize that they also benefit from reducing open warfare to an administrative procedure. Just like the arrangements Eric saw in Belgian Admin."
"So how do you propose we contact the demons? Do we hand an invitation to the first imp we catch?"
"Gentlemen—" tried Molly.
"Ach, nae problem. We visit the Twa Corbies. Tomorrow's Thursday. We meet at the Scythe and Skull, let everybody have their fun, and by the time we get to the Corbies there should be a demon or two there. Chances are good we'll find a local who's loosened up enough to talk. We'll need to be four or five together, to leave safely. Alan's a target, ye ken, and the nonaggression pact is within-walls only. Grell and Ronnie, Alan and meself, and I think you, Avram; are you willing?"
"I should come as extra muscle," said Sorenson. "I'll stay off to one side until we leave. Alan, I suggest it's time that I start bringing ffoulkes up to speed as your primary bodyguard. Dutch will soon have too many other responsibilities. Eric, should effie and I arrive separately and leave with you?"
"A fine idea. That means seven of us leaving together. Alan leaves in the middle of our group and somebody stone cold sober immediately ports him away. Four of us plus Grell should still be too many for the demons to attack out front – that would attract the authorities and get the Corbies shut down for a month. Nobody wants that. The Corbies would ban our attackers if that happened. We walk back to the Scythe and Skull. Just a harmless collection of people but too many to rush. No point, either, with Alan away."
"Um, Eric, I don't intend to drink—"
"Shush. I promised Grell we'd take you there. A taste of me stout, a small glass of wine, you quit when you like, just look flushed and sleepy when ye've got all the information you want."
Molly chuckled. "Men. Let Marisa talk."
"Sorry," sighed Alan. "I'm missing something, aren't I?"
Mari smiled. "You boys go play. I'm going to contact Belgian Admin for a current copy of their Procedures and a meeting with the top-ranking Demonic and Reaper officials running their system. By the time you've established your communications, Dorrie and I will have the process set up and an independent office furnished and staffed. Nobody will object; we're just one more city adopting accepted Administrative protocols already being used by entire countries. We'll also have introductions to the local Demonic Admin headquarters, in case you lot can't remember anything when you wake up Friday morning."
"Ah, of course," said Avram. "Much simpler, and does not require hanging about in bars. Mari, your price is above rubies."
Alan turned to Will. "Please, sir, do not tell Madame Administrator that we have her understudy here. Not until this war is over. We need her. Agreed?"
"Agreed," said Will. "I think not until the second disaster is over. If then." He raised his cup.
Molly deliberately waited until Will had a mouthful of tea. "And give her a raise."