The Twa Corbies boasted a wide walkway between the front door and the street. It was dimly lit by coach lamps. Ronald escorted Grell down the walk into the shadows. They paused there in conversation, two weary Reapers of no particular note. Still, by the time Sorenson and ffoulkes joined them, Knox had switchblades hidden in both hands. Grell was balanced to jump in any direction. Sorenson came up to speak with them, not standing so close as to interfere with sudden movements. Ffoulkes staggered up and down the walk and into the street, singing happily. Sorenson called him back. He sat down on the walkway and smiled muzzily at everyone. Grell set her basket of wine down in front of her friends. She spoke trivial nonsense while Ronnie and Sorenson pretended close attention and watched ffoulkes' hand signals: Three on the right. Five in the alleyway. Roof above is clear. Opposite roof, three.
Bring them in, signalled Ronnie, and said "We should be going. Mitch, do you need help with effie?" Sorenson said, "Let's see if he can cooperate. C'mon, effie, it's late. Stand up now and I'll port you home." Ephraim ffoulkes giggled and declared that Mitch was no fun at all. The night was still young. Rude songs were still unsung. Worse yet, a great deal of beer was yet undrunk. It would be a terrible shame to leave it lorn and lonely.
Mitch sighed and pulled him to his feet. effie draped himself on Mitch's shoulder and pulled him into a hug, vowing eternal friendship. With only Grell and Ronnie appearing to be free to fight, the lurkers left their dark places and gathered to attack.
Grell straightened up and smiled viciously, holding a wine bottle by the neck, ready to dent some heads. Blades suddenly flashed as Ronnie-the-kid became Knox the Knife. ffoulkes sprang away from Mitch, wine bottle in one hand, a blade in the other. Sorenson summoned his scythe, a heavy-duty Supplies model designed for double duty as a club or crowbar.
The attackers stepped back.
The bar doors opened. Slingby and Bourne emerged. With his angelic advantages, Bourne was already fully sober and had summoned his sword as he cleared the threshold. Humphries followed, drawing his knives, with Ten Hagen and Terry right behind him in an obvious hurry. Eight reapers and an Angel versus eleven demons.
Bourne looked at the attackers with great cheerfulness. "These are all demons under a glamour. No need to hold back."
"Oh, good," said Sorenson, and turned his scythe to use its blade rather than the shaft.
One of the demons dropped its glamour, disarmed, growled, and said, "Angels? Not in the contract. I just want a drink."
And that was that.
Dutch and Sam ran Smitty down in the Scythe and Skull's lounge, where a group of people were studying a technical drawing and some photographs spread on a table. Representatives of Automotive, Aeronautics, and Research were all frowning in concentration.
Smitty, a red-haired man with the strong spare build that Scythes technicians tended to develop, looked up from the layout. "Good evening, Sam, Dutch. What did your demon have to say?"
"Evening, Smitty. Fergie said quite a lot. It seems that when the Angels broke the Thorns curse, it rebounded on the casters with compound interest," Dutch replied.
"Good," said Donnie Cole from across the table. "Many happy returns on all of 'em. We've got a problem with this design somewhere, Smitty. The engine works for a while, then suddenly ignites."
"The organization chart of Hell is now being rewritten at every level except Lucifer's," offered Sam.
"Whee," muttered Cole absently. "Sounds like fun to watch from a safe distance." He moved a finger over the chart. "They think the problem's with the fuel feed, Smitty. Can't be sure 'cause nothing was left but charred lumps."
Dutch carried on with a determination born of long practice. He'd roomed with Smitty since they had graduated from the Academy. "Their infrastructure is all at odds, and the pipes froze. They won't be up to much mischief outside their own Realm for maybe a month until the politics play out."
"That's going to be a nice rest for our Reapers," said Les Franklin, whose courtship of Tonia Asaro was public knowledge since their handfasting at the Paris HQ. "A month, you think?" But his eyes were still on the table.
Smitty laid a finger on the diagram. "Here. Fine as long as the engine's cold, but when it heats up, this tubing will expand and rub against this rod until it ruptures. Lots of air streaming by to feed the fire."
Sam and Dutch shared a look of perfect agreement. Dutch removed his jacket – he wore a larger size than Sam – and held it by the shoulder seams.
Sam tapped the table. "Listen up, please. There are things you need to know. There will be no more Ravenings. Heaven and Hell will be banging out a treaty over this. We will keep you current on the terms as much as possible, because we will pump Knox for info coming down from Madame Administrator to the Director. Hell has cancelled its bounties on Slingby and Humphries. We are to be attacked twice daily by pink fluffy bunnies."
"That's good," said Cole absently. "We could rotate this unit counterclockwise—"
"Attention please. They've established a new bounty on another man."
"Fifteen degrees should do it-"
Dutch swung his jacket up and dropped it over the tabletop. "The bounty's on you, Smitty."
Franklin, Smithfield, and Cole straightened up. Three pairs of glowing eyes met Dutch's. The other Scientifics came to attention.
"Really," said Cole.
"Really," said Sam.
"Just spite, surely?" said Smitty. "Some demon probably messed about with one of our locking mechanisms and triggered the Kīlauea destination. Or Mount Erebus. Anyway, I'm so far back-office that they pack air in by mule train. Demons can't get into Scythes."
Dutch turned on him. "Do you know how irritating it is to guard someone who trivializes the risks? I do that all day; I'm not going to do it all night. Tell Engineer Crawford, he might get caught in the backblast. Fergie said, and I quote, 'Our influence is everywhere and corrupts rapidly. Your Realm has no secrets from us, not for long.' Don't you dare tell me there isn't jealousy of your success among those who haven't done as well. And you're teaching, now. What of your students' safety? What if someone tries to take you out in the middle of a class? How easy would it be to arrange an accident in the Stinks and Booms lab? How easy to skewer you with a scythe blade from your own workbench? D'you think yourself safe where the cleaning crew knows how to make bombs out of the stuff in the wastebaskets? Les, Donnie, if they start going after the Engineers and Researchers, you're next. Start thinking, all of you."
Franklin blinked. "Didn't think I'd ever see a display of temper from Dutch. Isn't that Sam's thing?"
"He's right, though. Damn," said Cole. "We need to hire a Reaper who understands security. Then we can lay our boobytraps to best effect."
Smitty rubbed his chin. "Sorry, Dutch. You're right, of course. I'll tell Crawford and O'Bannon. They are far more valuable than I am. There might already be protections in place that I don't know about. Would you be willing to talk to them if they have questions?"
"Sure," said Dutch, returning to his normal affability. "I've given you the news and won't say anything more about it. Talk to Duncan and Mallory. They'll find you somebody to subcontract." He reached for his coat.
"Is Humphries really that annoying?" asked Sam.
"Yes, he is, and I'm his partner as says so," Slingby said from the doorway. "Remember, now, Will's expecting detailed reports from us all tomorrow. Will ye please send me copies of all that the demon said? I think we must run his words past Avram, ye see. Dutch, I've told ffoulkes that I'll be Alan's bodyguard this week. I know he's been a right pain this last month, with the Angels and all. I'll talk to him about making your lives difficult. It should get better now."
Grell brought her basket straight home and put her wines into the rack to rest. She had been quite disappointed in the fight outside the bar. The attackers were few and unhappy to be there. They put up a token snarl or two and retreated when the Reapers snarled back. They lost all interest when Eric and his Angel came out. When the rest of the party emerged, the confrontation simply dissolved. Half the attackers fled. Half shrugged and peacefully entered the bar. None of them even looked at Alan, who should have been their primary target. There was obviously a story there. She'd winkle it out of him tomorrow.
Will was waiting for her at the desk in his study. She'd found it in the Human Realm, a beautiful walnut rolltop with nooks, crannies, hidden compartments and many drawers. It delighted his orderly soul. He was pretending unconcern, but stood a little too quickly and nearly knocked over his lamp in his haste to make sure she was unharmed. To reassure him, she raised her arms and did a little pirouette. Then she blew him a kiss.
"Don't look at me in this dreadful getup. Let me clean up, darling, and I will be right back. Nothing exciting happened at all." Nevertheless, he followed her into the bedroom, wanting to be near her after his long worried wait.
Because of his sentence of non-promotion, Will was the only Reaper who could count on keeping a long-term home. It had never occurred to him to improve his billet; Will lived by the Rules, which decreed that a Reaper must always be ready to pack everything he owned in a duffel bag and move to an identical rental in a different Branch. It was always the same bleak tiny room or apartment with the same minimal furnishings, unless the previous resident had left behind something that would not fit in that duffel, and if Maintenance had not confiscated it when they came to clean the room for its next occupant. Some misguided Higher Up probably thought that this made a Reaper feel at home no matter how often or how far away he was relocated. Grell had snorted at this. Nobody was going to tell her that a dim chamber with a lumpy bed and a hard chair was all that her Will deserved.
Grell had taken immediate advantage of Will's 1889 decree of enslavement ('Nonsense, dearest, security. They need you, they've cheated to keep you, and I intend that the price they pay shall be your comfort and contentedness. Among other things. Don't ask.') His rank entitled him to an apartment with a kitchenette. Heartlessly she moved them both into a larger place and ordered basic furnishings from a catalog usually reserved for ranking Administrators. She sat her beloved down and presented a budget for the improvement of their home; where the Realm failed to provide, she proposed to go to human purveyors.
Budgets were one of Will's many talents. He suggested a few upgrades, increased his share of the cost, then accepted it with as much ceremony as he would have shown Madame Administrator and considerably more than Humphries would ever receive in the future.
While all the Realm was agog over the reinstatement of those criminals Slingby and Humphries, Grell worked behind the scenes to make a home. She had managed to acquire a comfortable couch that was long enough for Will to stretch his considerable length upon. It took nearly a month to get him to try it, but try it he did, and was surprised when his headache eased.
There were two matching easy chairs with footstools; two small tables held books and lamps. An oriental rug, rich blues and maroons, warmed the floor. Grell had requested, and received, a functional fireplace from Maintenance. After the effort of hauling furniture between Realms, and back and forth across the sitting room until Grell was perfectly satisfied with their arrangement, Maintenance found the establishment of a flue in a top-floor apartment to be simple enough. Will, to his own surprise, found that comfort and companionship off-duty did not weaken one's character.
The windows were draped and curtained in lovely flowing white linen, swagged with golden cords. Will knew where she'd gotten that material. Far from being jealous of her long-ago conquests, he treasured the knowledge that her interest in such adventures had faded away. He occasionally gazed at them with satisfaction when he'd put in a hard day negotiating with Angels. When she slipcovered his chair in the same cloth, he laughed aloud and noted that the world did not end.
Originally there had been a great deal of red. After eight months of battlefield reaping, Grell had the place repainted; there was blood enough in her daily work. Something within her was satiated. She Reaped con brio, came home to her Will who was equally fierce in his own way, and was happy.
As avowed partners living together, they had a tiny extra bit of protection and security. Grell knew she was unlikely to be called to a new posting. The Higher Ups did understand the consequences of arbitrarily breaking up long-term partnerships. Besides, what other Branch would be willing to have her? She would scythe, strut, scandalize and seduce her way through their staff until they begged Will to recall her. It was a maxim these days that only the London Director could control the madness of the Red Reaper. Grell had asked Alan to spread that story throughout his extensive network of cronies and henchfolk. Alan had laughed in delight. That rumor now came winging back to her from all the ends of the earth.
He was a handy little fellow to know, Alan, for all that he was so earnest and boring and nearly invisible unless he laughed. In the farthest corner of her mind, she considered herself in his debt, and acknowledged that the 'boring' was an act. Once, a long time ago, she had seen him drop his guard fully to give his vows to his partner. That night she realized what Eric saw in him, and what Alan saw in his partner. From that moment on, she never again considered Eric an available candidate for her meaningless flirtations. Why risk the friendship, when the Realm was packed wall-to-wall with potential playmates? None of whom were as wonderful as her darling Will.
The worn black uniform was tossed into a laundry bag. Will added a note that it should be returned to Supplies after cleaning. Grell demonstrated again that she carried no marks of combat, then stepped into the bathroom to wash away the hair color and the dull makeup that had disguised her features. Clean and smelling of lavender soap, she returned to the embrace of her Will.
Some time later, Will cleared his throat, ran a hand over his dishevelled hair, and asked her for a report. His attempt at dignity was somewhat defeated by being naked in bed. Grell, to whom being naked in bed was all the dignity necessary to a happy life, nevertheless pulled up a sheet to signify that the conversation had turned to Branch business.
"Well, darling, I could not hear all that was said, as Ronnie and I were placed somewhat away from the discussion, and the sound in the bar is damped. Do you want my guesses, or will you wait until you can grill the others in the morning?"
"Your observations are always informative, Grell. Please give me your impressions."
"That bar has the finest sherry I've ever tasted, and normally I don't like the stuff. The employees are courteous and attentive to tired, shabby women who are not young and beautiful or high in rank. That's rare. Now I know where Eric fills his flask. Someday I would like to take you there, suitably disguised so the customers don't stampede out the doors and windows when they see you.
"Ronnie's growing into the role you've assigned him. So are Terry and Ten Hagen. Terry tends to a sour outlook, Ten Hagen to optimism, and they balance each other nicely because they like and listen to each other. ffoulkes has a secret talent for acting. He played the role of a determined drinker, fuddled but not legless, and kept it up right through to the confrontation outside. Which was a complete fizzle, my dear. Bourne pulled out his sword and the game was over.
"Terry's demon is probably of considerable rank. He, or it, was sober enough to be in reasonable control of his anger. He was a bit loud at first. I think the broken Thorns curse whipped back on the casters. Remember Avram talking about that? Apparently the Angels put a good deal of force and a bit of spin into it. There's a lot of damage and confusion. The demon was very indignant about it. Alan was with Eric and Bourne at the next table, listening to the demon's rant. Something he heard reassured him – his shoulders dropped.
"Whatever the demon said interested Eric greatly. Bourne too, possibly for slightly different reasons. The demon's words were approved by other demons sitting nearby, ruefully, I think. At the end, the demon got quiet and vicious. He said something that visibly upset Dutch. Dutch insisted on returning to the Scythe and Skull once we'd fought our way out. I suspect he wanted to pass news to somebody there; ask him. If it closely concerned the Branch, he would have given me a message for you.
"Then we all finished up, went outside for a nice punch-up, were disappointed, and I came home with two bottles of very good wine for special occasions and two bottles for sipping and cooking. Would you like beef bourguignon on Sunday?"