December 27, 1917
More than half of the huge map in the War Room was beyond Spears' range of vision. Spears ordered the map taken down and rolled out on the floor. After a bit of fuss involving the sweeping-up of sawdust, he had one intern kneeling on each corner while Eric and Alan used pointers to direct his attention.
"Will, you're going to need to see Spectacles for a pair of middle-distance-vision glasses. I have smaller maps of smaller areas; let's use those for now. Where do you want to start?"
"London first. Hospitals and the densest population centers. Then Great Britain, roads, railways, military bases and ports."
"Come in to the meeting room then. The hammering won't be so loud."
Eric sorted through the Alan's box of rolled-up maps. "Here's London, with all our individual Reaping territories and the Garrison's patrol areas." He unrolled it onto the table.
"Does this map have a legend?"
"Yes, lower right-hand corner."
Will bent over the map to focus on the legend. He traced the roads and neighborhoods. "The smaller the territory, the higher the population density. Hospitals, black squares, yes. Charitable institutions, workhouses, yes. Tenements. Anti-aircraft defenses. Bus routes. Railway stations and routes. The Underground." He peered at the map, then at the legend, then back at the map. "What are these red dots?"
"Bomb strikes from zeppelins and aircraft. We don't see the zeppelins anymore - they are vulnerable to weather, and too easy a target for anti-aircraft fire. Mostly Gotha heavy bombers."
"Why do we care about past strikes?"
"Ach, Will, Scheduling works off a copy of this map. They mark off future strikes according to the Lists, but past strikes have their own continuing fatalities. Humans keep dying when they scavenge in the wreckage lying over weakened floors. The homeless seek shelter in ruined buildings which may wait a week or two to collapse suddenly. Damaged gas lines leak and wait for sparks. Kids play in the rubble. We have to warn our people of unsure footing when they work around a blast area."
Will thought. "I need this map without the bombsites. Is there one which focuses on transportation?"
"If you make a list of all you need, I'll get them from Supplies," said Alan. "Do you want the sort you can mark up and then erase? Tell me what you want to track."
"Erasable, yes. I will need England and Europe, Asia and Africa, the Americas; one each of both hemispheres, to track the disease. High-population areas marked. I need to see how it will spread. In a week. Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"Now talk to me about the epidemic."
Eric unrolled a map of Europe and Britain, and ran his finger over the Channel ports. "We do have some notion of how the next epidemic will travel. Probably it will follow the soldiers along the battle lines and into the civilian sectors. All along the roads and railroad lines. Every single port. The injured will be sent home for medical care. From those hospitals the disease will enter the local population. When the war ends, the disease will go home with all the soldiers, sailors and prisoners of war. Africa, Asia, the Americas, Australia. Yigong daibing will take it back to China. The crews of trade and troop ships will pick it up in the ports and take it to their destinations, where it will spread inland."
Will murmured, half to himself. "As the epidemic spreads, we will need to follow close behind. As it passes, Reapers must finish their Lists, and follow the forward path of contagion. Some few must stay behind – the minimum to manage the surviving population of the area. The rest go forward until they come to the sea. Maritime takes over there. Or they go forward until they meet Reapers coming in from the other coast. Then, they may be directed to whatever place has the highest death rate…or where the List is not being completed, for whatever reasons.
"Madame says we may issue a Call to draw in the seceded, wherever they are hiding, any forgotten Reaper covering an area where humans no longer remain. The Call… very rare on land, uncommon on the seas. Reclaiming Reapers lost for years."
Knox, kicking back in the Cafeteria, said, "I hope the map room never gets built. I like having meetings where I can fill a tray."
"As long as we're not discussing anything confidential, I agree," said Terry, crushing crackers over a bowl of steaming soup. "Bristol's Cafeteria crew doesn't have the talent that London's does. Did anyone find out why Eric suddenly went bonkers at Alan? He isn't saying much about it, except that he was cursed by someone."
"Sure, Sam, it's common knowledge, just unofficial. The news always leaks out. The caster was Senior management, really a lot Higher Up, above Madame even. He's gone. Dragged off by Judicial for sabotaging co-workers he was afraid might compete for his job. Madame turned him in for casting curses using a demonic ally. She was his ultimate target. The first step in his plan was to sabotage the London office. We're too good, you know."
"How did you learn this?" asked Dutch. "Officially there's not a word. Must be a silence order in effect."
"Easiest thing in the world, Dutch. It's my job to listen and report to Will. It's true, the Uppers don't want it known they can go mad just like we can. You, you and Sam spend too much time in the office and at the Scythe and Skull. You've been listening in the wrong places for this sort of information. You want the inner secrets, you gotta slack off every so often. Reapers and ranking Admins can be muzzled; but if you hang where the right people hang, then you hear the word."
"The right people?" asked Marisa.
"The right people for the right news. Listen; Judicial grabbed the fellow from his office. That's on one of the top floors, where porting inside the offices isn't allowed. The Security cameras saw them moving him into the hallway. Monitor Juniors watch those feeds constantly. Next day, a Supplies crew arrives to empty his office and apartment. Maintenance sends a cleaning crew. They talk to his minions. He's treated them like dirt and the investigators have treated them as suspects, so they are not feeling any loyalty to the Association. Housing lists the rooms as vacant. Auditing goes through his books. Everybody writes confidential reports, which secretaries type and clerks file. Meetings are held where everybody forgets that the tea server has ears and a brain."
"Oho," said ffoulkes. Bradshaw snorted.
"These folks eat at Patel's and shoot billiards at Louie's. They drink at the Rose and Crossbones or the Pen and Sword," said Knox, "so that's where you go. Play billiards and darts. Always be a good loser, buy your round every time, sympathize when anyone has complaints about their day. All you have to do is show up at shift change and listen. News goes both ways, though. Now that I've started Management duties, I've had to tell 'em I'm picking up some of Will's duller administrative chores. I'm grumbling that I've been given an impressive title in lieu of a raise. Pretty much true, and a common practice in most Divisions. That's how Alan started."
Dora DePoy sipped her tea. "Wellington's aides in Portugal commented that the ranks always knew when a march would begin, well before their officers did. News got around, like the headquarters servants packing up his lordship's claret. Dutch, how is Alan doing?"
"He looks well enough, physically. But he's quiet and he stares out the window a lot. He's reassigned some of his outside duties over the last two weeks."
"Not surprising, really. He lost everything in the blink of an eye. It takes a while to get over something like that."
"Actually," said Bradshaw, "he's planning. He worries he's allowed himself to become too dependent on Slingby. He felt himself to be unequal to his job when the bond shut down. He wants to be less crippled if it ever happens again."
"Are you sure of this?"
"I'm one of those minions who type and file, Dorrie. He's made himself a checklist to follow if he loses the bond again. By the way, if word of this gets out, he'll fire me. It means no elevenses for any of you ever again because Spears will immediately revert to austerity in the office. So be quiet. Especially you, Ronnie. Agreed?"
Everyone nodded fervently.
"He's been talking to a rural Branch in a distant country. He's deposited cash in a local bank, enough to carry him to the third paycheck. He has received permanently open job offers from former students. One's the boss of the Branch, another the headmaster at the local Academy. They're offering better pay for fewer responsibilities and shorter hours. They are willing to take Slingby in a package deal, but it's Alan they're courting. It's a quiet place with simple duties, a welcoming Director, a supportive Administrator, and a distant, inattentive Garrison. It also holds no painful memories, if he's arriving alone."
"Damn. Being expelled from the Branch used to be one of his nightmares," said Knox. "Will and Madame have pushed him too far. Now he has a guaranteed soft landing. He can leave any time Will loses his temper."
""It's what I'd do, in his position," said DePoy, "although I think he'll stay here until the epidemic runs its course. He'll see it as his duty. After it's over, though... Mention that to Avram, will you, Sam? If Alan leaves or dies, Avram's back in Will's line of succession. That gives him a really good reason to support Alan if poorly-thought-out orders come down. Or if the partnership fails. Pay attention, Ronnie, Sam, Dutch; if we lose Alan, you will inherit duties you're not ready for."
"We'll all be screwed," said Brock, thinking of the Budget. "The Academy, too."
"Then you'd better hope things go well for him here," said Brad. "The competition's offered him a cottage with a garden. The sneaky bastards are sending him seed catalogues."
Alan Humphries and Avram Jacobs, trying to ignore the construction racket in Operations. With glasses of tea in the tiny closet that was Avram's temporary office. Wherever had Brad found Avram that beautiful samovar and matching teapot?
"No, it won't be the Black Death, though some of the symptoms look similar if you're not familiar with either disease. It's going to be influenza. It's been around forever as a winter fever. People tend to dismiss it as a seasonal nuisance. But sometimes, without warning, it changes to a more deadly form. The Italians thought it was due to the influence of the stars. There was a bad outbreak back in 1889. You may remember its arrival in London that December. Were you back on regular duty by then?"
"Yes. It was horrible. We barely kept up with the Lists. We were still very understaffed at that time."
"It started in Bukhara that May. It followed the Trans-Caspian Railway to the Volga, to Kiev and the Baltic shipping routes. From there, the world. It's horribly contagious between people, between people and animals and birds, especially swine, ducks, and chickens. It can be caught from apparently clean surfaces and from people who look perfectly healthy. No prevention but isolation, no cure but to treat the symptoms, nervous damage in the survivors – severe depression, temporary loss of the ability to see some colors. You'll see an increase in class sizes at the Academy due to post-flu suicides. The Russian 'flu had three waves; one mild, one deadly, and a third which was less deadly but preyed on people weakened by the first two waves. It loves crowds and cool weather."
"Thanks, Avram. Are you willing to talk to Doctor Collins at the Academy?"
"Pfft. Waste of his time. Tell Collins to go find a Medical Elder who was active in 1889 and 1890. Best is Ivanov in Moscow. Or Kiselyov in Kiev. Then have them both talk to Will, who's going to be part of the global management of the second wave. How are his geography lessons coming?"
"He's begun to study areas bordering London. It's intimidating at first, but so many new things are. He's learning."
"Good, because I'm still hiring among the last Thorns convalescents. We are going to need them, and need him to understand that we need them. We're also recruiting heavily at the Academy because I don't trust the truce with Hell to hold through the third wave."
"I don't either. It's just not in their nature, is it? I should nag the Garrison about it, but their experience with Hell is greater than mine and I don't want to presume."
"Not presume, but perhaps merely remind?"
"Or ask, to get them thinking about it. Because they do need the occasional push."