Kemuviel would have preferred that what might be his last moments of existence weren't being spent in Dominic's waiting room.

Hardly a new sentiment from visitors, he thought ruefully. His surroundings weren't particularly terrifying: this week they were appointed in a close approximation of what humans called "rococo": potted plants, overstuffed armchairs, gilt on every exposed surface. The secretary was fiddling with one of those newfangled electric typewriters: Kemuviel felt a momentary pang of pity for humanity when Jean finally got around to releasing that particular invention to the corporeal plane. Really, it wouldn't have been that bad … except that it was Dominic's waiting room. That made it a place of terror, if you had any guilt.

Kemuviel had a lot of guilt. The Malakite guessed that he had about one chance in twenty in surviving his upcoming interview intact and relatively unscathed … and about one chance in three of surviving at all. He was here anyway: what choice did he have?

The secretary looked up, her face impassive. "The Most Just will allow you to pay attendance upon her now." Seraphim. Always verbose. Why can't she just say, "You can go in now"? Well, at least I've got a clue to the gender now. Kemuviel knew he was internally babbling, but his own expression was as neutral as the secretary's was as he walked through the double doors at the end of the room.

Dominic's private office had the look of a place whose owner was almost never there: not dusty or messy, of course, but Dominic obviously had never felt the need to personalize his inner sanctum. The Archangel of Judgement was sitting behind his desk, his eyes peering under his cloak as he contemplated his Servitor.

As usual, his voice surprised the Malakite: one always expected a leaden bass to come out from the hood, not a pleasant baritone (or soprano, depending).

"Report, Kemuviel."

"Of course, Lord Dominic." He must have changed gender for the occasion. "As you know, my Triad's duties on Earth involve angels assigned to the island known as England. While investigating Servitors of Trade, I came across what I can only describe as a conspiracy to circumvent the will of the Seraphim Council. I, of course, notified my supervisors, and continued to observe the plotters. I was notified to not expect your weekly visit, but instead report to you directly at the Celestial Tribunal after two corporeal months had passed. Your wisdom (for I presume the directive was at your command) in so ordering me to do this was amply demonstrated: the plotters decided that I was approachable. I am ready to provide particulars at this point."

"Then do so."

"Yes, Lord Dominic. In short, I have discovered a conspiracy dedicated to the eventual extinction of Belial. While few of us would object to the soul-death of a Demon Prince, these angels (who call their movement the New Crusade) are dedicated to his removal, to the exclusion of all other considerations. They are prepared to defy the Council itself to accomplish their aims."

"And how do they expect to succeed?"

"At present, they know themselves to be too few in numbers or strength to directly challenge the Prince of Fire. Their first goal is to attempt to discover Belial's general numbers on Earth, as well as his Tethers. Once this has been accomplished, they will, as quietly as can be arranged, dispose of as many Servitors of Infernal Fire as they can find, and target Belial's Tethers for destruction, whether by angelic or mortal hands. Once this phase is well underway, they hope to convince as many of the Host as possible to join them, and then call open war upon the Prince of Fire. With the Host united in one aim, his forces would be extremely vulnerable.

"Eventually, they believe that the Prince of Fire will be forced to act directly more often in the corporeal plane. They will then target him directly: I must add, at this point, that the plotters are quite aware that this means their near-certain death. They are indifferent, as long as they manage to weaken Belial enough that, when Gabriel finally confronts him, her victory will be certain. Those Malakim among the plotters have apparently sworn oaths to that effect … and they feel that their standing instructions to not directly attack Demon Princes are not applicable in this specific case."

The Archangel of Judgement was silent for a moment. "What is the makeup of these Crusaders?"

"No particular Choir or Word is paramount, Lord Dominic. Indeed, the Oriflamme does not seem affiliated with this plot at all: at least, I have not discovered any links between the Crusade and Servitors of Divine Fire. To my certain knowledge, there are Servitors of the Wind, Creation, Faith among the plotters… as well as the Sword, Stone, and even Destiny. At this point, I have not seen any indication that any Superior is involved."

"Have they provided a justification for their conspiracy?"

"Lord Dominic, from their point of view, there is no need for 'justification'. Those of the New Crusade believe that they are merely rectifying a problem that should have been addressed millennia ago. These plotters also believe that Gabriel's madness has been getting noticeably worse over the past few centuries, and that … left untreated, she will be perilously close to Falling within a century and a half."

"Remarkable that they think that they can forecast a Archangel's actions at all."

"One of the plotters is a Seraph of Lightning, Lord Dominic. He was apparently using something called 'chaos theory', although I am afraid that I have no idea what that means. His co-conspirators certainly seem to believe him." As do I. "At any rate, they believe that they have very little time to set their plot into action."

"If they are so worried, why have they not petitioned the Council? Or even openly declared their intent?"

This is where it begins to get ugly. "To be blunt, Lord Dominic, they do not believe that doing so will be of any use. Opinions are divided over whether the Council recognizes the danger or not. Some believe that it does not, and thus will not attempt to disturb the status quo - and some believe that the Council does recognize the danger, and has decided that the restoration of Gabriel is not worth the effort. All are agreed, however, that the most likely result of an open declaration would be the formal or informal suppression of the New Crusade. By keeping things secret for as long as possible, they hoped to prove the Truth of the human saying, 'It is easier to receive forgiveness than permission'."

The figure behind the desk was silent for an even longer time. "Thank you, Kemuviel. I presume that you have also a written report?"

"Yes, Lord Dominic. Detailed logs of conversations, full descriptions of every plotter I encountered, lists of other likely conspirators, and copies of plans, organizational tables, and proposed propaganda pieces. Everything I discovered is in there, with nothing left out." May God forgive me.

Kemuviel passed the bulky folder to his Superior and waited, patiently, for the ax to fall. As he suspected, Dominic immediately began referencing the list of names, thoughtfully indexed by Word, then Choir. Any moment now…

"Kemuviel." The voice actually sounded faintly surprised. "I note here that you have included your name in this list. Do you suspect that this information might be seen by untrustworthy eyes?"

Now that the moment is here, it's actually not so bad. "No, Lord Dominic: no one has seen this dossier except you, and myself." The Malakite of Judgement straightened and looked his Archangel straight in the eyes. "My name is on that list because I am a member of the New Crusade. I agree with them: Belial must be eliminated, if Gabriel is ever to regain her sanity. She has suffered much, for no good reason, and that burns into my soul. Something must be done: something that should have been done long ago.

"Belial must be destroyed. Whether it is the will of the Seraphim Council or not."

"It is not every day that one of my Servitors declares himself to be in open rebellion against the Host, and in the next breath provides the information that will prove his treason, and that of his compatriots. Why?"

"I do not consider myself in rebellion against the Host, and I would kill myself before I rebelled against you, Most Just." Actually, technically, I am killing myself right now. "We are acting in rebellion against a policy of the Council, not its members or its right to lead us: a policy we feel to be incorrect. As to why I gave you this?" The Malakite gestured to the papers in front of him.

"I am a Malakite sworn to your service, Lord Dominic. I obey your will, even when I disagree with it. I am no demon, ready to betray my Superior as Belial betrayed Gabriel."

"Even if I order you to go back to your fellow-conspirators as an double agent, so that the Inquisition may gather enough intelligence to discover all those involved in the Crusade?"

"Even then, Lord Dominic. I would obey as if I found their beliefs repugnant, wrong and a danger to Heaven, and I hand over to Judgement every angel who trusted me." But not even you may make me enjoy the procedure, and don't ask me whether I could bear to exist any longer after I did so.

The Archangel of Judgement nodded. "Then that is what…" He broke off, stunned for a second. Kemuviel was equally shocked: a figure that had been in the room, all along, had stepped forward and placed one hand on Dominic's shoulder.

Dominic turned quickly and waved a hand over Kemuviel's face. "Sleep."

And the Malakite felt the rushing darkness overpower everything, including his wonder and inner torment…

Dominic's office had been silent for several minutes. The Archangel was glaring at his Bronwen, his mobile conscience; Kemuviel was staring at everything and nothing at once, his mind shut down for the duration; and Bronwen, as was her wont, was saying nothing at all, merely looking back at Dominic.

Finally the Archangel chuckled ruefully - something he never did in public - and turned to a coat-rack that hadn't been there a moment before. A moment's glare at Kemuviel - who remained oblivious to the rest of the universe - and Dominic shrugged and removed his cloak.

Shorn of his habitual cloak, the Archangel of Judgement's celestial form was a fascinating vision: a many-eyed golden serpent, with his greatest accomplishments visible as ornate designs on his skin; a moderately old man, eagle-nosed and wearing a black robe; a petite, imperious human female; all of these things at once, and none of them. It was a dizzying sight, which was one of the major reasons why he had to wear the blessed thing all the time. Bronwen faced the sensory overload with silent equanimity.

Some day I'm going to get a rise out of her. I just don’t know whether I really want to. Dominic tried another glare, but his heart wasn't in it. After all, if I didn't want her to question whether or not I'm making hasty decisions, I wouldn't keep her around.

"Very well." Bronwen said nothing. The Archangel of Judgement sat, contemplating the dossier, and contemplating the frozen angel in front of him. Eventually, he shook his head.

"I see nothing wrong with the decision. The New Crusade is not obedient to the will of the Council; if they have their way, they will be dictating how Heaven should fight the War. Who gave them that authority? We do not have the luxury of dividing our strength. I would be merciful, but I must not allow a precedent to be set."

Normally, Bronwen's continued silence would be completely normal. Bronwen never spoke; she was not Dominic's conscience or advisor, after all. She was an independent check on his impulsiveness: once she fulfilled that task, Bronwen would retreat back into the shadows. But this time … was different. She had not retreated, which either meant…

Either she has finally broken under the strain, or she still thinks that I'm reacting instead of deciding. Dominic tried again.

"Do you think that I enjoy the prospect of trying Gabriel? We have served God together since the very beginning. There are too few of us left in these days, and I mourn every time one of us is Lost. But I cannot ignore her madness, and the danger that she represents. If I thought that we could destroy Belial, I would have advocated it long ago. But it cannot be done: he's too entrenched in his Word and in Hell, and we cannot get to him. And in the meantime, I must protect the Host from itself. That is what I do, whether or not doing so causes me pain."

But Bronwen would still not retreat. In fact, she did something she had never done before during one of these 'discussions': she broke eye contact with her Superior, looking up slightly. Dominic followed her eyes…

…she was staring at the sigil, the Naming and symbol of his Word, that floated above his desk. Celestial writing is nothing like the corporeal version. His sigil existed in many dimensions at once, pulsing and subtly changing in details as new concepts were fitted into Judgement. All Superior-level Words encompasses every single belief, story, idea or thought that has ever influenced it: a skilled reader could derive the entire history of Judgement from contemplating its few clean lines. Bronwen looked Dominic straight in the eyes for a moment, then deliberately raised her gaze again to the glowing sculpture of light and music.

So Dominic looked into the symbol of his authority and duty, and the light shone upon him, and into him, and transformed him…

After an endless moment, he sat down heavily at his desk. I have been… It was hard to admit, hard to even think about, but Dominic was strong enough to do it.

But what do I do? Amazingly, Bronwen had still not retreated into the shadows. Silently as the night, she stepped over to his desk, picked up two items, and gracefully bowed before the Archangel of Judgement. One of the items was the dossier that had begun this crisis, opened to the page listing those who had chosen to act like angels instead of celestial bureaucrats.

The other was an ordinary fountain pen.

Dominic glared at her for old time's sake. "What, you finally actually have an opinion?" Bronwen considered this… and nodded her head once, coolly, silently.

And the room was filled with the Archangel of Judgement's laughter.

"As I was saying, Inquisitor Kemuviel, then that is what … convinces me that I will require you to provide me with the ringleaders of this plot." Something was nagging at the Malakite as Dominic went on.

"I want them brought to me, cleanly, quietly and with no suspicions aroused. Draw upon the resources of Judgement: I will provide you with trustworthy assistants. But I need them brought to me quickly, before the situation becomes more unstable."

Suddenly, Kemuviel realized what was bothering him: he wasn't an Inquisitor. "Forgive me, Lord Dominic, but did you say 'Inquisitor'?" At the Archangel's nod, he went on. "You're promoting me? After I defied you?" Dominic's voice was soft as he replied.

"Actually, you stated that you were defying a specific position of the Council, not me. Care to change your mind? Ah, I thought not. You're probably thinking that it's best to leave now, so go." As the angel turned, Dominic cleared his throat.

"Now that I think of it… you should find this fairly useful in accomplishing your new task." He slid the dossier, still open to the incriminating pages of names. "I suggest that you be very careful who you let see this." Kemuviel, flustered, grappled with the pages … then stopped in shock. There were two new names listed under Judgement. Names he had no difficulty recognizing.

The new liaison between the Inquisition and the New Crusade stared at Dominic, goggle-eyed, as the Archangel leaned back into his chair and looked up at the sigil he had not betrayed.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Go get me our fellow plotters." Except for one, of course, Dominic mused as Kemuviel ran out the door. I'll need at least one colleague to pull this off, and I know exactly who.