Note: Hi, everyone. I've been called to jury duty. No idea how long it will last, but at least I haven't left you all with a cliffhanger. Back as soon as they're done with me.
Senior DePoy's hopes for reconciliation proved optimistic.
Will waited the rest of the day, clearing his desk of those documents which required his signature and reviewing the materials he had brought back from his training session. Cortland worked alongside him quietly and well. Will waited until duty required Cortland's presence elsewhere. He then closed the office door – definitely there would have to be a reassignment of offices; he would talk to Brock, who had a talent for architecture and the best use of available space.
He called Madame Administrator. He explained the situation. He admitted that he did not feel himself adequate to the task of resolving it, especially as he believed himself imperfectly informed of the facts. Her explanation was complete, her instructions clear. Will was angry, but not at her. She was also angry, in a way that indicated a proper revenge was already in the works.
Six hours later Humphries returned from teaching, silent and grave. Eric returned separately. Mister Wójcik caught him on his way in and redirected him to Will's office. As he entered, Cortland left.
Eric shoved aside the Uncomfortable Chair For Those Who Have Screwed Up Inexcusably. "What do you want, Will? Don't even try to tell me— "
Will's face was blank. "Slingby. Go Upstairs. Madame requires your presence."
"What does she—"
"Go. Or shall I have Security escort you?"
"Mister Wójcik, please ask Misters Humphries and Brock to join me in my office."
Brock arrived, curious and expectant. Humphries looked exhausted.
"Gentlemen, I need you to produce a floor plan for Operations which provides two extra offices. The first office will be for the use of the Assistant Directors on Duty. It should have enough space for them to hold small meetings in private. Soundproofing, locking file cabinets, a locking desk of some distinction. A comfortable chair rather more impressive than the basic design, excellent lighting. I should prefer to keep my present office, but will relocate if necessary. In addition, we will need a separate office for the storage and reading of maps. Quite possibly several maps at once, therefore tables and walls to hold them, and enough space for several people to discuss them. Good lighting. Consult with Maintenance on load-bearing walls and pipe runs. I would like to see some rough sketches in a week. Given your other responsibilities, is that possible?"
Brock was already doodling on his notepad. "I have a couple of people who are also interested in this sort of thing. I'll bring them in on this. Also I'll ask for consultation from the overseer of our last expansion. I can't promise a week. Say two weeks. Once we have something you approve, I'll have Housing and Maintenance produce a proper blueprint for your review. How much time and money do we have?"
"Time, perhaps two months. Money, you know better than I. This restructuring is requested by Upstairs, so do not skimp. I will be able to apply for additional funds as long as we demonstrate that they are well spent."
"Excellent, sir. If Upstairs wants it, it will get done."
Eric stood before Madame Administrator's desk. He repressed his anger a bit – not being a stupid man – but did not take the chair provided. Obviously she was going to demand he take Alan back into his home; what right had she to interfere?
"Slingby, sit down."
"What do you want, Eliza? I'm busy."
"Sit, Slingby!"
Eric sat.
"Look at me, Slingby!"
He looked up and met her chartreuse gaze.
"Alan was following my orders."
The compulsion broke. The anger vanished. His memories resurfaced; Alan worrying about Will, about Grell, telling him that he would visit Madame, that there was a special file in case he did not return…
Madame opened a drawer in her desk, reached in, retrieved a bottle and slapped a shot glass down in front of him. She poured. "Drink."
Eric managed not to spill too much down his front. My God, my God and all his rosy pink-bottomed cherubim, smug little brats that they were – what had he done to Alan? He set the shot glass down on her desk.
Madame poured a second dram. Eric paused until he had steadied a bit, then downed the shot with better aim.
"Who cursed me? What orders? What's going on, because I know you, Eliza, and you have a plan because you always have a plan. Who did this to me, to Alan?"
Madame folded her hands, waiting for the second shot to take effect. When Eric calmed, she returned bottle and glass to the drawer.
"Alan visited me to confirm that your Director was alive, well and in the building. He brought no security, as he was in an area already secured. Instead, he brought an Auditor as witness. He was acting to prevent a monumental blunder from Agent Sutcliff."
Grell, right. "She was going to stage her own invasion?"
"Indeed. She had illegally acquired an extra scythe from an injured Reaper. It was reported by Supplies to Alan. He came to me for proof that Spears was safe, proof that he could offer Grell. I gave it to him. And then, because I was under the strictest orders, I ordered him to tell no one of his visit, by word or gesture or message of any sort. DePoy was forbidden to tell anyone but Grell, and to forbid Grell to speak of it. I believe the curse was laid upon you at that time, that you would demand what he could not give, and be consumed with anger."
"Is this related to the curse laid on Alan before, that none could hear his warning that we were losing Reapers too fast?"
"Yes. The caster, as you see, has improved his skills. One curse on one man to destroy one other. And destroy yourself, of course, as an added bonus, perhaps sending you mad enough to explode into a killing rampage in your office or at an evening gathering in a bar. At the very least, even if you had managed to continue in your duties, neither of you would have trusted me again."
Eric shuddered. "Close, very close. I should have known, but did not. And I've closed off the bond, Alan must be – "
"Don't open it yet. I need to know if somebody's monitoring that. Investigations are underway. It's a good thing that you closed it; the reciprocal anger between you might have sent you over the edge. Alan will endure. His sense of duty will hold him a while longer. Your own self-control is adequate for now."
"Who, Eliza?"
"There is an Upper who considers himself under-valued and surrounded by others who desire his position. He believes me to be competition. As London is the jewel in my crown, he wishes to destroy its most valued employees. Spears is beyond his reach, for other Uppers are interested in his career. He cannot directly dispose of Alan, who has gained Angelic interest. But you are vulnerable, and might have murdered most of London management if you had gone mad in the office."
"Tell me, Eliza, and I will see that his plotting ceases."
"You will do no such thing. I have my own plots, Eric, and they are ripening as we speak. He will fall, and you and Alan will have no connection whatsoever to it, except as innocent victims of his malice."
"May I go to Alan?"
"Not yet. I think my palace coup will be finished in about three hours. You will go to your office and stay there in full sight of your colleagues until you are notified it is over. Use the time to consider how you will approach him. We cannot have him fall into a deep depression. Director Spears needs instruction that only you and Alan can give him."
He had tried to return home. The door was locked against him and Eric was not there. Alan was too tired to be angry; his temper always cooled quickly anyway. He would need to think carefully about Madame's orders and Eric's reaction, but first he must rest.
Alan returned to the grim little bolthole in Block H 2NW, to sleep there for third shift, which Caro now covered – poor woman, two shifts straight as Assistant Director; Alan had asked Wójcik to schedule her a nap in the first-aid room.
The room was dark and cold. He remembered once saying that he would prefer living in a place he would not regret losing. He'd become too fond of their apartment in the short time they'd lived there. He should not have permitted himself such foolishness. To serve where he was sent. He wrapped himself in all the bedding.
Tomorrow he should look about for a faraway Branch… no. Will would never let him leave. There were important things that Alan needed to teach him. Alan alone was not very strong as Reapers counted strength, but stubbornness would suffice. He had managed in the past with only stubbornness and skill.
It would be best to avoid Eric as much as possible while Alan adjusted to the loss of his home and spouse. His hands were steadier now as he became used to the closing of the bond link. His tears were all spent. But he was cold, so cold. It wasn't the room, but the absence of Eric. The worst was the quiet. No footsteps, no rattle of newspaper, the chuckles and coughs and the voice… Must learn to live with it. Without it. Teach Will. Learn his own new duties. Spend more time at the Academy, doing his best for the students who would be their replacements after the next disaster.
Today, after Eric had refused to teach with him, he had gone down in the school's dusty vaults for tea with Senior Archivist Stone, who lived in the unchanging timelessness of his files and stacks. A wise, amiable, gentle soul who did not shout. The tea was from the Angels, yet it failed to warm or heal. He had excused himself after the proper half-hour and returned to the office to finish the shift. The atmosphere in Operations was tense. Dutch, usually good-humored, appeared to have had a disagreement with someone. Alan worried about Eric, and wondered if he still had any right to do so.
He had considered disarming the door lock, but feared another public denunciation. He had spent years trying to explain things to people unwilling to listen or believe. This was no different. Really, he should stop doing that. No more worrisome little man. Life would be so much easier.
Perhaps, in a day or two, when Eric was more likely to read it, he could send a note suggesting a meeting at The Twa Corbies, where open conflict was forbidden and the drink was exceptional. But drink might reignite the anger. Eric had made it very clear that their partnership was over.
Alan needed to carry on for two or three more years. The second disaster looked to be enormous but short-lived. After that he could transfer to a Branch where memories would not lie around every corner, where he could Reap unpartnered. Or go to Sandriel and ask to be destroyed. So the pain would end.
There was a knock at the door. Alan struggled out of the bedclothes and put on his glasses to track who was outside. Smitty. Dutch was down the hall a bit. With Eric. Well, perhaps Eric would be comparatively civil in front of witnesses. Alan called, "Coming," threw on enough clothing to satisfy propriety, and cracked open the door. "I'm sorry about the argument last week, Smitty, and I really don't want another."
"Eric's calmed down, Alan. Will you see him? Dutch and I will send him off if you don't want to deal with him right now."
Alan stepped forward and peered down the hall.
Eric stood quietly. Shoulders level. Jaw relaxed. Hands unclenched. None of his usual signs of hidden anger. But Eric could erupt suddenly into murderous action. Without the bond to warn him of sudden intent, Alan was cautious. "Stay a moment, Smitty?"
Smitty stepped back, crossing his very powerful arms, the result of forging scythe blades these ten years. "As long as you like. Can he come forward?"
"Yes, please."
"Okay, Dutch, bring him along."
Dutch murmured something that sounded very like 'behave yourself' and walked forward with Eric.
Alan raised his head and waited.
Eric walked to him and stopped a respectful, non-threatening two steps away.
"Alan, me Light. Madame has broken the curse laid upon me and explained that you both were under orders. The curse caster has been found and taken by Judicial's ruling Angel. Come home, mo sholas. If you wish, I will stay here until you are able to verify all that and decide if you are willing to let me join you. Will you take my hands? Will you let me open our bond?"
"A curse?" Alan raised his hands. Eric took Alan's left hand with both his own and clasped them so their rings touched. A glow began to show between their fingers. The bitter cold around Alan's heart seeped away. Somehow they were suddenly embracing. Alan wondered briefly why Eric's shirt smelled of single malt Scotch. He dropped the thought in favor of far more important things.
"Think they're okay?" asked Dutch.
"They will be," said Smitty. "I think we're unnecessary here. You two? Go home, please. Some of the newer residents are easily shocked."
Alan thought that a fine idea.