March 23, 1918

Eric came in late from the battlefields. Alan was asleep on the couch. A book had fallen to the floor. Eric picked it up and looked at the page.

The splendor falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story;
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.

Ah, yes, the beauty of Nature—

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

Oops. Trouble.

O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O, sweet and far from cliff and scar
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!

Well. Didn't that tell you a lot about the author.

Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying,
Blow, bugles; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

Eric marked the page with a scrap of paper and put the book gently away. Aye, the horns sounded; but it wasna' the Elves, cruel as they could be; something far worse, because far more common.

The lairds on the hunt. Horses, hounds, the gentry and their servants, all pursuing their quarry through the planted fields, destroying the crops, damaging the sheds and fences, running down the farm folk and their animals. The bailiffs would come 'round demanding their rent regardless and the tenants would go hungry that winter.

Tennyson did have a fine way with words. But he'd never spent a winter starving in a freezing, leaking hut, that was sure. Definitely writing from a warm dry room in that castle, with the certainty that his meals would appear on schedule every day.

Or maybe Eric was mistaken. Horns around castles could also mean war. Bugles were never a good way to start a day, not for the common folk or their Reapers. It wasna' the echoes wha did all the dyin'.

A rustle behind him meant that Alan was awake and groping for his glasses. Eric slid them out of a fold of the blanket and handed them over.

"Thanks. Did I drop my book?"

"It's on the shelf, no damage done. I marked your place."

"Thanks. What's the problem? You're sounding upset. Bad shift?"

"Good poet. Will ye join me in a cuppa tea? I'd like to sit quiet for a moment."

Sitting at the kitchen table, Eric poured for his spouse and himself. It had been a long and weary month since the curse had been dispelled. The episode had shaken them badly. Although they kept up a bland front in the office and at the Academy, Alan was no longer willing to work outside these venues. He had reassigned all possible travelling to others unless Eric went with him. Eric taught and reaped as before but returned to Alan's side at the earliest opportunity. There was always the hidden worry. Yes, the man responsible was gone, but what had happened once could happen again, and Madame might allow it if it fit her purposes.

Spears would not go against her; indeed, he was increasingly remote from Eric and increasingly short with Alan. Whatever his new assignment, it drew him away from his employees and ruined his temper. Alan took the brunt of it, to protect the younger Reapers. When Alan was off teaching, Avram did his best to control Will's ranting. Among the Admins, only Anton Wójcik was spared his ire until Senior DePoy threatened a general Admin walkout.

Alan sipped. "My, that's good. Thanks. What delayed you?"

Eric sighed. "Long List. The German Spring Offensive's on the roll. The bugles are sounding from cliff and scar. They've realized that they've got to win the war fast before the Americans can send their whole new army into the French lines. Russia is out of the war, so Germany's moving those Eastern armies to the Western Front and attacking France. They're bombing Paris again from the airplanes and bringing up Krupp siege guns. Doing pretty well, but they will outrun their supply chain soon. The French troops are exhausted. There have been some mutinies along the Front, after orders were given for suicidal attacks. D'we have any food here?"

"Ronnie got the last of it. I'll try to get away and shop tomorrow. He dropped by to catch me up on the unofficial on-dits. He browsed the cupboards, failed to extract any gossip about our relationship, and moved on to greener pastures. Do you think the Germans will win?"

"I think, me Light, that they lost this war when they goaded the North Americans out of their neutrality. That country is large, rich, and industrialized. Germany is running out of soldiers and resources. This Kaiserschlacht is their last chance to force France to seek an armistice. Somehow I don't think the North Americans would just pack up and go home, though."

Alan sipped again. "Ronnie reported that Molly's doing very well as a battlefield Reaper."

"Settled in nicely, so she has. Working independently of Iris now, with Sorenson the partner of record. She has Harmon, Drury, Forbes and Brewster as her wingmen. I've been working on the east side of her group. Chandra's working the west side with the evil twins, Gerritt and Grell. I'm amazed he doesn't lose his temper more often. No demon assaults, though. Demons have enough to do just picking up their own designated harvest. How was your day?"

"Ah." Alan picked up his cup, put it back down, and sighed. "Long. First a meeting with Ted Collins and Asa Kincaid over at the Academy." Agent Kincaid was North American, a self-described Yankee, which seemed to mean a native of the northeastern-most states. "He told us of a disease outbreak at an army training camp in their Midwest state of Kansas. It's a highly contagious influenza. The camp commander had orders to deliver troops to other camps and ports, so he did not quarantine."

"The humans do know how to isolate, but that's impossible in crowded places. They won't even try if it interferes with war or politics. Or religion. Or business."

"It's now epidemic in the central states and the east coast ports. Moreau says it's in the French ports too. Probably on the Western Front today or tomorrow."

"D'you think this is our next disaster?"

"Looks like the first wave. Very contagious but the death rate is at standard levels and affects the usual age groups. A few anomalous fatalities that hint at things to come. We came back to the office to go over the maps for an hour. I'm hoping that following the track of this wave will give us a hint of how the next will travel. Will listened in. Then I turned myself over to ffoulkes for my Reap shift, so Dutch could join Sam for a 'listening' lesson with Knox."

Alan slumped and rubbed his eyes. "I think our second wave will be this autumn. Rationing isn't working well. The poor are hungry. Doctor Collins thinks that many of the deaths will be patients too weakened by the 'flu to fight off other infections. Pneumonia and meningitis will be big killers."

Eric shrugged. "Same everywhere. The governments have to feed the armies first. Letting an army forage off the land they're invading only works for fast-moving battlefronts, and then only one time if the farmers and fields are destroyed. Not to mention you have turned the natives into an enemy that will be the death of your children in twenty years. Wars are self-sustaining that way." The bugles, always. Armies besieging the sunlit castle walls. Beauty above. Blood below. Humans in their constant conflict.

Alan nodded and sipped. Eric continued his line of thought.

"The civilian populations are hungry. They know their governments lied to them and are continuing to lie. This is sowing the seeds of rebellion."

He poured Alan and himself another cup. "The Romanov dynasty has ended. The Habsburgs have petered out; their empire is disintegrating and is not interested in furthering the pretensions of its heir. The Ottoman empire was crumbling even before they picked the wrong side in the war. They've been exterminating large numbers of their own residents on the basis of race and religion."

"Well, that's stupid. Dead people can't be taxed."

"But their possessions can be looted, their property seized, their political power destroyed. The beneficiaries will be taxed and occasionally reminded of what happened to the original owners when they displeased the government."

"Ah. If you cannot win hearts and minds, fill wallets. Expect betrayal as soon as a better deal is offered."

"If the Kaiserschlacht fails, the Hohenzollerns will be finished. Wilhelm has been the frontispiece of the war his government wanted. He will be the scapegoat for its failure. Possibly there will be a revolution. Gruber of Vienna says the country has had enough of its Kaiser, its aristocracy and its military dictatorship. A score of minor principalities will fall, all those pompous inbred little sovereignties that make up the German states. Whole populations of workers are finding power in collective action. Post-war politics are going to be brutal."

"Ted predicts this epidemic of the milder type may spread widely, just a nuisance at first, leading to complacency as it fades away," said Alan. "Then it will – ah – mutate, that's the word he used – to a more vicious form and return. Everyone will say, 'Oh, it's just La Grippe again, it's a dreadful nuisance but people get over it,' and suddenly the death rate will rise enormously. A third wave will follow, a little milder, and then disappear. In short, just what Avram described."

Eric nodded. "France has imported conscripts from all their colonies in Africa, Asia, Indochina and Oceania to the Western front. Britain has brought in troops from every territory. Now the United States are joining in. When the war ends, they and all the other soldiers will take it home; for many, it will be there to greet them. No place will be safe. Have been able to tell Will? Has he listened?"

"Yes. He doesn't like it any more than he likes anything else, but it feeds into his new orders, so he pays attention. My full, formal report is due tomorrow. I've told him to expect a fast-moving, highly contagious influenza that will kill its usual victims, the old and the very young, and weaken everyone else. Then he's to expect a second wave of a much more deadly version, which will also target ages eighteen to forty. I imagine it's going to affect the war, when both the armies and the home countries are infected."

"That would be a factor, aye. When the generals cannot field an army, and the home country cannot support it, and army and civilians alike turn against the war; they will preserve their dignity with an armistice. Which is ever so much more respectable than a surrender because nobody has to admit defeat. September and October, ye think? Then I would predict an armistice in November if the Spring Offensive goes poorly for Germany, and in December if it goes well. But it won't. The North American Army will be there in force by the end of July. More tea?"

"A last splash, yes. If we can just make it through the next two years, perhaps we can rest. I have been thinking of that lately."

"Two years, maybe a little more. But someday. After things settle down, if ever they do, aye. Is Will giving you grief? Because I can distract him for a couple of days to give you a break."

"Do you really want his full attention? I'll hide in the Postgrad Library for an hour's nap in a study carrel. Eric, would you ever consider leaving London? Because I am just about done with it."

"D'ye think they'd let us go? Everything we have is here, everyone we know is here, we're doing important work…"

"All we have is our duffels, a houseplant, a sprig of mistletoe and your teapot. I'm exhausted. My work is spreading out to our friends, who are likewise exhausted. Madame will throw us to the wolves if it suits her strategies. Will's scheduling overtime into my rest shift again. The Academy's pushing me for more hours even though the class sizes are down; not teaching, but administrative duties that should be handled by administrative workers. They wanted me to volunteer you as well."

"They want me to fill out their damn forms for them? We are Will's employees, on loan at his pleasure. Any time not spent on the students belongs to him. I'd love to hear his response if they risked asking him to waste us on any secretarial work but London's."

"I refused, of course, for both of us. I also told them that we probably won't be available at all during the worst of the pandemic. They spluttered a bit, but they have no leverage; we're not Academicians grovelling for tenure. They don't even have many of those now that the class sizes are back to pre-war levels. Did you know that my original TAs left because they were denied promotion? Rosine's headmaster of a small Academy now. One of our first class of students is running the local Branch."

"Rosine was the tall dark one, right? Smart lady. Good for her."

"Absolutely. She took Talbot with her. He's now her Head of the Reports and Reviews department. She teaches Ethics and Records Retrieval. Anyway, our Academy has lost a lot of their Admins to Collections Support. They are saving money by not replacing them. Their work is being reassigned to the teaching staff. My TAs are being told to prioritize it over grading."

"The bastards."

Alan rose to wash out the mugs and the teapot. "Eric, I want out."

"Out? Me Light, would you leave me?"

"Never, love, unless you wish it. I want us to be free, away, gone, as in halfway 'round the world. Or at least, I want the dream of getting out, the hope of a better situation. We have given our all to London, to Will and Madame and everyone who works here, and to the Academy and the Garrison, and it's never enough. Never. And if nothing we do is good enough, then nothing is what they get. I want to move well beyond London's power to command. As soon as the pandemic ends and before the next emergency, which will probably develop immediately because it always does."

"Desertion is not – "

"– I have job offers for us both."

Eric relaxed and picked up the kitchen towel. "So not a secession, but a new Branch? In two years, maybe a little more, then?"

"Yes, enough time for our replacements to grow into their jobs. We won't be leaving them half-trained. Our flight might even gain them kinder treatment. We've been offered better conditions and more rest, unobtrusive protection but not confinement. Above all, I will no longer be Will's prisoner or Madame's pawn or the Garrison's nuisance."

The mugs were returned to the cupboard. Eric dried the teapot. "Very well, me Light. Someone's offered ye a patch of garden, haven't they? That explains the naughty magazines under the mattress. I especially liked the one with the snapdragons on the cover."

"They signify graciousness and deception. We're going to need to use both."

"For now, I'll do me best to ease yer way. I'd like to follow up yer job offers, ask some questions. When this is over, then aye, we shall go wherever suits ye best. All places are the same to me if ye are there and happy."

"It's not a big city. Rural, almost. Would you hate it? You must be happy too."

"Me love, I was raised as a crofter and have served in Branches of all sizes. Besides, portals. We can party anywhere we want with a little help from the London Lab."

Alan brightened. "Quite true. A portal arrangement would allow you to work here while living there, if you wanted. I would like to leave on good terms with everyone here, even Will if possible, but without giving enough warning that Madame can intervene."

"We will go together. I will not have them use me against ye again; and I think they would, if they found yer absence inconvenient. I would have to fight me way out, and probably hurt friends following orders to stop me. Can the Administrator of our new Branch be bullied into surrendering us back to Madame?"

"I am assured that he cannot. We are too valuable to him. He is eager to adopt the improvements that Will and our Academy enjoy. But, just in case, I have backup offers from other countries."

"Well, then. Ye shall have yer wee garden, and proper rest, and the respect of yer Director. I think we may hope for twenty years before the next world war begins. We'll get our new Branch ready for it. In the meantime —"

"Eric, my love, bless you. I will do everything in my power to see you happy, whatever happens." Alan gave him a quick hug. "My full report's nearly finished. I'm just waiting for Collins' written opinion. I'll add your comments on the disease's effect on the war. It will be on Will's desk tomorrow afternoon. It will take him a while to go over it. Madame Administrator will have it shortly after. I'll send a copy to Major Elihu. Frankly, I think that the Forces Muscular should be talking to Raphael's people, but there doesn't seem to be a great deal of communication there."

"Ah, me Light, the workings of the Highest are beyond our understanding. I suspect the Angels aren't in on Their secrets either. Now. In the meantime —" and Eric looked sternly at Alan, "have ye eaten?"

"No. I fed it all to Ronnie. I think he's pockets to let until payday, living off whatever Brad supplies the office for their teatimes and meetings. He spends his funds listening for Will. It's why he's always hungry. I will buy him a big breakfast after morning handover." Alan gave Eric a mischievous smile, the first in many weeks. "The first time Will shouts at me tomorrow, which traditionally occurs upon my return from the Academy, sixteen-thirty sharp, I shall get even by presenting the paperwork for Ronnie's raise. I intend to enjoy it. I haven't had fun in a while. Also, I shall present reimbursement forms for Ronnie's information gathering, which is well-funded in the current Budget. When he refuses to sign, I shall threaten to tell Grell that Ronnie's going hungry to get Will the news he needs."

"Careful, me Light. Remember that Will must continue to see you as a humble minion, not as a free man considering attractive offers of alternative employment. Or worse, as a possible deserter."

"I will settle for being a useful employee who occasionally becomes stubborn. He's accustomed to that. Indeed, he expects it, and I'm overdue. It might even relax him a bit."

"Right, then. Cafeteria, pub, or order in?"