Will's absence, the third day

Eric came in from the Academy an hour early. Alan should have joined him there to help pack up the Gymnasium before going off for a meal. He tried their apartment first, where he found his spouse half-awake and trying to shave with a switchblade.

"Here, now, me Light. What's messed up your schedule this time? Ach, no, give me that! I'll finish up your face. Hold still. What's on first shift that requires you doing overtime? "

"I am. On first shift. Will hasn't come back yet. I fly his desk until oh-eight-hundred. Ronnie is eight to sixteen and Caro is sixteen to midnight. Ten Hagen, ffoulkes and Duncan are covering me for anything I can't fit around Will's duties and my teaching."

"Did you get any sleep?"

"A little. Stayed late at the Academy. I get off this shift at the same moment my basic Demonology class begins. I had to warn my teaching assistants to be ready to pick up the first few minutes if my handover report to Knox runs long. That drew a Punctuality Is Essential rant from Pollard. I waited until he started preaching to the whole room and slipped out when he was glaring at someone else. Then I straightened out a student dispute – we aren't keeping them busy enough if they have the energy to fight each other, so I handed them both a six-hour stint with Maintenance. And paperwork, you know, end of term stuff."

"Let's get you some breakfast, then."

"Let's both go into the office. I'll put up a pot of coffee, receive handover from Caro, then I'll order in for us both from the Cafeteria. You can have dinner and I'll do breakfast. Eric, in all your years, has a Director ever vanished permanently from his desk? I mean, been called away by the Higher Ups and never returned?"

Eric considered while Alan retrieved his shoes from under the bed. "Maybe. Once. Now there were some lost in action, but called Upwards…once. Don't know if he was reassigned or promoted, but he was competent and in no trouble that I knew of."

"Hmm. Thanks. I wonder if any other Divisions have Branch Directors missing? I need to ask around. Caro doesn't have any political strings to pull, but Ronnie might have some drinking buddies in various places. If we don't hear from Will soon, Grell will be sawing a hole in Madame Administrator's door. That is actually my job, because London does not abandon its missing."

"Now, me light, Madame would not—"

"Madame can be overruled by her superiors. Why has Will not been in contact with Grell? Why has Madame not explained his absence to us? I can think of one very good reason and several very bad ones. I'll make a few inquiries, some arrangements. If we haven't heard from him in a week I will request a meeting with Madame. If I also vanish, I've left notes for Knox and Cortland in my left-hand drawer filed under In Case of Executive Stupidity."

"Alan, you are too tired to make such decisions. Look, you didn't even hang up your jacket last night, or put your shoes away. Poke around for information all you like, but don't bite anybody while you do it. Avram might have some insights. Teach tomorrow, but I'll see you leave on time and get a full shift's rest. I'll have Scheduling match my shifts to yours so we can work together and leave together."

"You are right of course. I need caffeine. It's not a full moon or a weekend. Not much civilian knife-and-gun. It should be quiet until the small hours, when the death rate rises in the hospitals and homes. I'll call around here and there. Who else would have been at this meeting? Supplies, maybe. Cafeteria? Medical? I don't know enough about Admin, but Dorrie would."

The fourth day

"Frank? Eric. Look, London's Director – yeah, Spears – was called Upstairs for a meeting four days ago and has not returned. D'you have any idea where he is or what's going on? Because Upstairs is not talking to us.

"– We're doing fine. We've a number of people who have stepped up to cover his desk around the clock. But his partner Grell is worried about him, as are we all. Nothing? You sure? Because we're approaching a Branch insurrection here. We don't abandon our missing. Somebody important has forgotten that.

"– If he's incommunicado, then yes, by our standards he's missing. If you run across anybody who does know about this, let me know? Because Grell – well, yeah, what would you expect? Grell has gone all quiet which means she's already decided where to dump the bodies.

"Alan? he was angry at first, but mostly worried now. He thinks he may know what's going on. He's going to visit Madame tomorrow and request an update. Senior DePoy is going with him to demonstrate that Admin is also concerned. She's an Auditor and cannot be brushed off as easily as we can. Grell's promised to hold off until then. There's unrest among the new hires, too; they know all about being suddenly listed as missing. Will's their hero. Alan's announcements offering them sanctuary and medical care and work were issued over Will's signature.

"Some of our people are talking a general invasion of the Upstairs to search for Will. Nothing that will affect the Garrison, just internal Reaper politics."

The fifth day

"I can tell you, Mister Humphries, that Director Spears is in no danger."

"We need evidence, Madame. While your word is enough for me, my word is not enough for Senior Sutcliff and the Reapers of the London Branch. Still less would my word suffice for Bristol. Seniors Garraway and Fairbairn are most distressed by the absence of Director D'Acres. Also Oxford, Brighton, Southampton and the Land and Maritime offices of Portsmouth. One might assume that other major cities in the South are also missing key managers."

"Senior DePoy, will your word as an Auditor persuade London?"

"It might have, last year, Madame. Now we have a large number of new hires who do not share London's experiences. They are learning that Auditing has stood between London and the worst attacks from Judicial, and that in London the Admins and Reapers work very closely together. But trusting our unsupported reassurances of the safety of a Director gone missing? One who is highly valued? No. Not after having been cast out of their own Branches through no fault of their own."

"Mister Humphries. I saw that smile. Explain."

"Nothing, Madame, I assure you."

Madame gazed at him with such coldness that icicles could have formed on the lampshades. "Now."

Alan looked up with a grim face – here's a fine hill to die on, Dorrie, hold my beer – and said, "This is a test. Have we passed?"

Madame raised an eyebrow.

"You've pulled the Directors out of their Branches without warning. You needed to see whether the second level of management would step up, consume itself in office warfare, or fall apart. You need to know whether their Reapers would follow orders given by the new management. London has compensated and continued. However, we do not abandon our missing. The hunt for our Director has begun. I don't think that was anticipated. Bristol's starting that too; expect a visit from them soon. Ditto Portsmouth Maritime. Their Admiral is highly valued by all of the Sea Reapers. Show me my Director, Madame, or I will tell every other Branch exactly what is going on, and –" Humphries paused.

"And?"

"And, of course, there is Grell."

Madame's face softened slightly. "Indeed there is. Yes, Mister Humphries, this is a test for you all. It is not yet over. Go back and persuade your Reapers not to assault my doors."

"And Director Spears, Madame?" asked Dorrie.

Madame pushed a button on her desk. A screen behind her cleared to show a room filled with Reapers, maps, charts, and a passionate argument which Will appeared to be winning.

"He is no happier with me than he usually is with you, Senior DePoy. You may tell Senior Sutcliff to expect him home in two days. He will be in a vile temper; we are changing his duties. He hates change above all things. Tell no one else. Tell her to tell no one else. If she cannot be silent, have her assigned down into Collection's private Stacks. You, Humphries, will say no word, not even to your bondmate. No word, note or gesture. Do not let your body language indicate that you are any less worried than before."

The chainsaw lay on newspaper on the kitchen table. Each component was clean. A few had been examined and replaced. Grell capped the grease and oil containers and set them aside. She unwrapped the new chain and examined it carefully for flaws.

They would expect her to use this, and use it she would, but it would not be the only scythe she would carry. There were times when stealth was required. There were other times when the general perversity of the universe would require the chain to break or the gears jam. There were yet other times when one needed a weapon that did not run out of fuel. Grell had experienced and survived all of these situations since the Great War began. She would banish the chainsaw and summon her illegal acquisition, and there was always her Angel blade for close work.

She threaded the chain on the clutch drum and sprocket. She replaced the side cover loosely and adjusted the tension on the chain, then tightened the cover nuts and locked the brake lever. She would take her chainsaw to some remote spot, fire it up and listen to the engine and the blade for any odd notes which should be investigated and corrected. But first, she must clean up her mess and put the tools and cans away. Some coffee would be nice. She set up her drip carafe and set the kettle to boil.

As she poured boiling water into the grounds, there was a knock at the door. Will would not knock. Nobody else was worth her time today. She wrapped her tools in a canvas belt. The newspapers were bundled and dropped in a wastebasket along with her gloves.

Another knock. Oh, Alan might be waiting to tell her what Madame Administrator had to say about Will. She stuffed her fury down into her belly and banished her chainsaw.

A firm knock in an unfamiliar rhythm. "Miss Sutcliff, I know you are in there. Open up. I have news you need to hear."

Who? Familiar but not immediately recognized. Grell drew her blade and held it to her back before cracking the door open to the length of its chain. "Senior DePoy. Admin/Auditing, right? What does Auditing want with me?"

"Auditing wants to come in, sit down, kick off its shoes, and share a cuppa. Put away your knife, child, it's not needed."

Grell peered through the door. DePoy appeared to be alone and weary. "Is anyone out there waiting to jump in if I open this door?"

"No. Just me. I have a message which I am not going to mention while I'm out here in the hall where any snoop with an ear to a door can hear me… Mister Taylor, you do not want to spy on Auditing. Go away." A door down the hall opened and closed. Footsteps pattered away. "Please clear any evidence of whatever you are planning, Senior, and then unchain the door."

Grell paused, then dropped the chain and opened the door. "Nothing but Rule Two, Auditor, cleaning my scythe. Please enter. Would you like to share a pot of coffee?"

"Yes, please, that would be most welcome. I'm working third shift with poor Alan." DePoy closed the door firmly, tested the latch, and reset the chain. "He sends his regards, by the way. He's not allowed to tell you or anyone else what I have to say. Madame Administrator is not entirely pleased with him. Some Upper concocted a clever scheme which Alan figured out too early. I think he would have kept silent if Fenner hadn't noticed that you'd kept the scythe you took from that breakdown you brought in."

"Do come into the kitchen and have a seat. I have a fresh pot brewing. I don't have much to offer with it, though—"

"No problem." DePoy held up one hand. A confectioner's box appeared, tied with a ribbon. "Very wise of you not to take that poor fellow to the nurse. She'd have recorded his condition on his permanent record. He would have panicked. He comes from a Branch which would have used it against him."

She placed the box on the kitchen table, sat, and toed off her shoes. "Fenner and Howe have merely offered him alternative employment in a desirable position which we have had trouble filling. We do that all the time in Admin. Now we can get him proper help on the quiet, while reassuring him that his prior Branch's policies are considered inexcusably abusive by London."

"Will does say it's all in the wording. Cream and sugar? Let me set out a plate for the biscuits. Do you have news about Will?"

"Yes, my dear. Oh, that coffee smells heavenly! Thank you. What a lovely cup. Decorated with spider lilies, beautifully done."

Grell growled. Senior DePoy sipped and smiled.

"Director Spears will return to his desk in two days. Now, he may be a little difficult when he returns. Madame says they are changing his duties, by which she probably means they are adding to them. That's going to require him to reassign many of his current responsibilities. Part of this exercise is to judge whether the rest of the Branch is ready to assume his work. Madame says he hates change. You'd know more about that than either of us, of course, but I can tell you he's in a terrible temper."

"You actually saw him?"

"We did, though he did not see us. He's fine."

"Thank you. I was going to go upstairs tomorrow and shake the place out."

"Yes. I know. Just as well you don't have to. That stolen scythe won't return to you or to its former owner. Supplies has reclaimed it."

Grell grimaced. Of course. The burned-out Reaper would not be allowed a scythe until Medical cleared him. They'd doubtless send him to choose a new one that carried no memories of his previous Branch. But she did have access to another—

DePoy sipped her coffee and loosened her tie. "And if you're thinking about using Iris Quirke's old billhook, the one you keep for sparring? Do keep in mind that Madame also once had a reputation. She has allowed it to fade into history but has never stopped honing her skills. Remember that Senior Slingby does not argue with her. Moreover, the upper halls have their own unseen protections."

Grell cooled down a bit. Dear Will had chided her before about letting anger overrule careful planning. He would be disappointed.

"Now, can you keep quiet? You may not tell anyone by word, writing or gesture. Can you maintain your aura of fury and borderline control? Or should you join your rescued Reaper in the silence of the Administrative Stacks, filing reports until Director Spears returns? That would be most inconvenient for Senior Gupta's team, you understand."

"I will continue in my assigned duties, Ma'am. I am an excellent actress. Is Alan in much trouble?"

"For figuring out the situation, no. For adjusting to it, and for seeing that everyone else adjusted to it, no. For acting on it when he feared you would take it to battle, yes. He was not supposed to go Upstairs and say, 'I know what you are doing. I will blow your secrecy out the other side of this building if you do not demonstrate that my Director is alive and unharmed.' Politely, of course."

"He's always polite," Grell acknowledged. "Well, usually."

Dorrie chuckled wickedly. "Madame got even by forbidding him to tell anyone anything. Specifically, he has to keep his husband in the dark. Can't even tell him that he can't tell him."

"Oh," said Grell. "That is – oh, what a bi—ah, bother. Eric will demand to know everything. Poor Alan."

"Caught between his vows and her orders. You can't tell Eric either, remember."

"Did she make you promise, too?"

"Nice try. Of course she gave me the same orders. They really should have factored Alan's intelligence into their plans. It's very possible that Madame is looking forward to telling an Upper 'I told you so.'"