Alan left Collins' office and took himself off to a large classroom where eager students awaited. Their classroom time had been sharply curtailed, their graduations put off for a year while they shelved mountains of life records in the Library. Alan thought a chance to sit down and take notes was probably very welcome to them.
Thank goodness, his Teaching Assistants had brought him coffee. He was tired, always tired. Will was much more demanding when Grell was away on assignment. It would have been better had he sent Alan to India and kept Grell at home. Time for a chemical accelerant while the TAs opened the boxes just delivered from the London Print Shop. He wondered how Ten Hagen was doing.
Alan's teaching assistants began passing out the professionally printed version of Field Guide to Demons that Alan mimeographed for the London trainees every year. The knowledge was needed by all, not just the lucky ones. He had updated and reformatted it to textbook standards. The Academy had refused to print it, of course. It had taken all his savings to have so many copies printed privately. He hadn't quite needed to pawn his watch.
He hoped they'd enjoy it. Deadly serious stuff, of course, but Demonology did involve thrilling war stories of Reapers who had fought and won against beings far stronger and better armed. He had also added a chapter on incidents where the attacker had been celestial rather than infernal, in hope that it might balance other instructors telling them that the Angels were their absolutely reliable divine protectors. The professors who taught that nonsense had never Reaped more than a single day in their afterlives. Many had never stepped outside the Academy grounds since their final exams in centuries long past. There was a worrying movement to have Alan's class materials censored.
Someday, someone would have to address that. Somebody else, for a change. He had made significant changes in the Ethics lectures a few years ago. It had required absolute ages of passionate debate and single-minded advocacy from one who was teaching at the Academy yet actively Reaping. Respected, and not subject to pressure, because not desperately angling for tenure. This time it could not be him. Spears and the pandemic kept him too busy.
But at a smaller school, someday… one less steeped in tradition, or with a different tradition… or a less hidebound, reactionary staff… and if he had more time and better pay…
Alan looked out over the classroom. The current truce between the infernals and celestials would fail before these students graduated and entered their apprenticeships. It was Alan's duty to give them the tools they'd need to survive that long; also to turn out graduates whose overconfidence would not get themselves and their mentors killed. Was the drop in student numbers partly a reflection of the drop in the number of those available to train them? Or would post-influenza depression swell the incoming classes? Would the Angels step up to the point where it would be safe to have single mentors instead of pairs? He needed to think about that. It would mean getting Reapers to trust in celestial protection again. The Seniors would not forget. Was that why the Academy was teaching the Divine Protectors line? Did they really think that lesson would outlast a day on the street?
Twits. Yes, they did, because they had never Reaped beyond their final exam. Never encountered an attack group of demons while the angels on duty were off faffing about the Garrison or gossiping over tea or running errands that a superior thought more important. Never been kicked by an undereducated squab or abandoned on the battlefield by an undertrained patrol leaving en masse to investigate a small distraction. Of course, once all the excitement was over, perhaps the Garrison would recall the experienced Angels home. Coverage might improve.
Chance was a fine thing. So was history, and his students would study it. Because General Artois and his army of Angels were not coming back. They would be promoted far beyond a Garrison covering a mere earthly city.
At least the war would be over before these students took their final exams, now officially delayed until June of 1919. Maybe the worst of the pandemic as well. Gradually they would fill the vacancies left by Seniors who had not survived.
The students were paging through the Field Guide, marveling at the pictures. He'd paid an artistic Admin to produce drawings of several variations of the major demonic forms. After the Academy Press had delayed publication until too late to make deadline (a most regrettable oversight, of course it's not censorship, but really that last chapter is not acceptable to the Department), Alan had gone to the London Print Shop. Thus, these books belonged to Alan, not to the Academy.
"Students, welcome to Demonology. These books are my gift to you and are not the property of the school. You will be able to take them with you when you graduate."
He was astounded when the students rose to their feet and applauded.
Doctor Theodore Collins examined Senior Samuel Terry first. The two shared an old acquaintanceship; both had been trainees of the team Anders and Brandon, a team no longer mentioned in Reaper circles. Both apprenticeships had ended early, with Collins transferring to Medical and Terry reassigned to the team of Forbes and Brewster. Neither cared to mention those days, but it was a connection of sorts.
Terry endured a thorough examination, a few uncomfortable tests, some embarrassing questions, and retired to the waiting room. Ten Hagen received the same examination and tests, and more extensive questioning.
"Ah, no, sir. Just roommates and good friends. I like the ladies and Smitty loves his work. He could be seeing someone in Scythes, but if so, he has never said a word, never brought anyone along to afterparties or social gatherings of any kind. His room has heavily shielded walls on all sides, now, because of some of the materials he handles."
"Who lives in the room on the other side?"
"Empty, sir. Morris died in Belgium and Ledbetter moved to a single in D Block."
"I will warn Housing not to fill that room. What is Ledbetter's full name, and how long ago did he move?"
"George Albertson Ledbetter, serial number 184639. He left eight months ago, right after Morris died. Couldn't find a roommate before the rent came due, couldn't afford to stay, possibly wanted a clean break. He was teamed up with a Thorns convalescent recently, so he may have moved again."
"I will call him in for a checkup. Who lives across the hall from Smithfield?"
"Empty double."
"Thank you. I will also notify Scythes that Smithfield must come in for an examination."
"I think they have their own doctor in charge—"
"Then he's missed or dismissed a problem which has leaked into the Collections population. In spite of their decontamination procedures. Unacceptable. Or deliberate?"
"Not for me to say, sir."
"And you say you sleep soundly. So any physical damage is repaired overnight. Interesting. Very well, sir, we are done for now. Continue as usual but do not engage in physical intercourse or hand-to-hand combat exercises with unaffected Reapers until I can have a chat with Scythes. If you need to spar, I am sure that Scythes will oblige you. Call if anything changes. I will notify you once I have investigated further."
"Is Sam okay?"
"A milder contamination. He will decide what information to share with you."
"You sent for me, Eldest?"
"Ah, Ronald. Sit down, please. Tea?"
"Sure, sir. Thanks. Mmm, that's good. What can I do for you, sir?"
"Set your cup aside, please. I want you to look at this book."
"Field Guide to Demons. By Senior Collections Agent Alan Humphries—our Alan? Huh. Let me see. Oh, this is nice. And pictures." Ronnie turned a few pages. "Hah, I didn't know that the crow demons could – and the – ah... This is an improved version of that handbook Alan gives our new trainees, isn't it? I never really looked at it. This must be for Alan's Ethics class. Avram, this is great. This has stuff I was never taught."
"Indeed. Now look at the title page."
"I don't see anything unusual here?"
"Look again."
"Oh. This wasn't printed at the Academy. The London Print Shop did this. That's odd. Did Alan have this run off at his own expense? Why would —"
"Turn to the last chapter."
"Okay…oh. Wow. He's got a brass set for sure. How much trouble is he in?"
"According to my sources, there is a certain amount of strife. He's preaching Truth to Power again, and that is seldom welcome."
"So you want me to do something. But I have no connection to the Academy, Eldest."
Avram Jacobs, Co-Director of London Personnel, chuckled. "Nor do you need to. The Academy has no rights to this book. None. And oh, how they are going to regret that. Alan self-published it to give to his students, because the Academy would not do it. He gave me his extra copies for whatever use I could make of them. I sold them to our new hires, Ronald, for enough to repay Alan's debt to the Print Shop, and had many more buyers than books. He doesn't know that yet."
"I'd sure like a copy. Okay, Avram, I'm slow, it's part of my boyish charm. But could you possibly be hinting that the London Branch go into the publishing business? Like, we offer Alan a royalty on each book sold, have the Print Shop run off a second edition with better paper and some color pictures, and advertise it to Collections at large? Which will bring in a profit – Will is going to love that—and copyright it – and the Academy will have to buy it from us next year?"
"Oh, I imagine they'll refuse to buy it for a year or two. They are using the arguments over the content to avoid such expenses as printing or purchasing. That's why they didn't just quash the debate and approve the book. They will continue to expect Alan to donate copies to his students, and he will. But it will not profit the school, and he will not be impoverished as punishment for his views. And it will not reflect well on them. There will be comments. Then other schools will adopt it into their curricula, buy it from us, and deride our Academy for its short-sighted pettiness."
"And my duty is?"
"Go, Mister Knox, and sell this scheme to your Director, thereby establishing yourself as a worthy candidate for his respect. It's time you became a true Assistant Director. Take this book with you. Mind, now, I want it back. Will can have the first copy from the next printing. For a modest price. Make sure that he agrees to Alan's royalties, and that the book remains Alan's property. Then you will go straight to Auditor DePoy to have the copyright sewed up tight. All rights to Alan, not to the Academy and not to the London Branch. Let her negotiate with the Print Shop."
"Right. You're giving Alan something nice instead of his annual ha'penny raise and fifteen new responsibilities. Who told you he was getting ready to quit?"
"It's obvious. I've seen it many times before. Resignation suddenly leavened with hope. An occasional slight smile from thinking of things that could be, rather than things that cannot be. Oh, yes. He has a better offer awaiting him after the pandemic passes. It will be a smaller Branch, outside the Commonwealth, probably with another Academy nearby, and they will offer him respect and rest. Therefore, we must become a competitive employer."
"Because you might find yourself moved into a job you don't want," suggested Knox.
Jacobs levelled a stern gaze at him. "I have been informed that I am where I am required to be. You, however, are overdue in assuming greater responsibility. Accept it. Take some of the load off Alan's shoulders. Offer a fresh new point of view to management discussions. You don't want to be handed his job either."
"No! They wouldn't! Would they?"
"If Alan walks out? Who else? Most of the other acceptable candidates are Administrators and ineligible. You know the rules."
"But—"
"Listen, Ronald. Ten Hagen is twenty-eight years your Junior with barely two years in his current aideship. Yes, he's doing very well. But even without the teaching duties, it's a lot of overtime. What makes you think he'd want the job? He's seen how Alan is treated and does not like it. You should have noticed. He is loyal to Alan, but not to Will.
"Alan has had many aides. Most have left for other positions, all for the same reason; Alan's primary responsibility is to manage Will. Alan is not afraid of Will. He enjoys the challenge of diverting him from bad decisions. For over thirty years, he's shrugged off Will's ranting. But Will keeps piling on the abuse, piling on the extra hours as his own duties increase. Meanwhile, a conservative faction at the Academy yips and nips at Alan's ankles. They've been doing it for nearly fourteen years. With wartime duties added, Alan's had enough. Nobody else wants any part of it.
"The first time Spears shouts at Dutch for problems beyond his control, Dutch will resign from Operations and return to full-time Reaping. Terry has already walked out on Eric once for that. He'll leave with Dutch. Caroline Cortland hates being Acting Assistant Director. She's very good at it, but It's far more work for no extra pay, and on the graveyard shift at that. If Will shouts at her, she'll spit in his eye, leave London and take Onayemi with her. Senior DePoy will not tolerate him yelling at her Admins. She'll pull her entire staff out of Ops, and Auditing will back her up. Will knows that. Who does that leave on lightning-rod duty? You.
"Start casting about for Reapers to train as assistants who can share the load; you've been putting it off far too long. It's going to be difficult. Too many are on foreign assignment, too many have died, far too many know about Will's management style. Cease pushing your least favorite duties onto Alan. Start pushing Will to give Cortland her proper salary, just as Alan did for you. Will won't listen to Alan about another expenditure, so it's up to you. You'll also need to develop a solid working relationship with Samuel Terry's understudies in Personnel, in case their superiors leave.
"If Alan goes, Eric will go with him. When they go, most of the Operations Reapers will leave after Will starts venting his frustration on them. They can step through any portal into another job; all Branches are understaffed these days. Madame may have to pull Will out of the Branch and bring in a staff of strangers who don't know the people or the territory. You'll have to train the people who will replace you. If you cannot overcome your reputation for irresponsibility and foolhardiness, you'll be lucky to wind up working alone in a rural outpost."
"Awww, maaan—"
"So, if you want Alan to continue working here, for even one day after his sense of duty releases him, you will have to put some effort into making his job tolerable; tolerable enough that he will refuse a far better offer. An offer, I might add, which is tendered by people who have not previously broken up his marriage to gain a political advantage. Now, go persuade Will to fund a quality printing of this excellent Field Guide. It's going to become standard equipment in a few years. And do not let him avoid or sequester Alan's royalties."