Security had been back up for a while, but it didn’t matter; management found me long before I made it anywhere near Providence’s precious upper levels. I had one of Apollo’s counterfeit access cards on me, but tucked it into a pocket the moment I picked out the distinctive gait of someone making their way towards me on a personal warpath.

To my great surprise it was Djehuti – Thoth – Helpdesk’s resident overseer and my actual boss in name, if not practice. Being stuck in charge of a full half of the employees in the company meant his office existed concurrently on each of the twenty-seven Helpdesk floors, including the one for all the gods whose names started with special characters, and even then I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him outside of it. I wasn’t a hundred per cent certain he ever left. Judging by the stares among the other staff nearby, I wasn’t the only one.

Contrary to popular belief, he didn’t possess the head of an ibis – at least not at the moment. The tyrant had always been iffy about non-humans to the point it was probably in the official dress code. And the best thing about being a shapeshifter was that you got to choose. Still, there was nevertheless something bird-like about the sharpness of his features and glint of his eyes, like he couldn’t quite leave that part of his nature behind.

I folded my arms and waited for him to cross the room, laying down one of Odin’s signature infuriating airs. “In a rush, are we?”

“Where have you been?” the Head of IT demanded, glaring daggers at me. Not many would have dared, which I had to give him chops for. “The worst catastrophe in decades – centuries, even – and you’re nowhere to be found. I’ve had three of your colleagues breathing down my neck asking for you, and nothing to give them but excuses and empty promises. They’re waiting for you now up in Alpha-7. You need to hurry.”

Floor Alpha was one of the management-restricted floors. The lowest. The pearly gates I’d had the misfortune of visiting earlier had been on Eta, according to the symbol I’d seen above the elevator door. So this wouldn’t quite be the highest I’d ever been. Close, though, and any restricted level was worth a visit.

“Djehuti,” I greeted him, clapping a hand on his shoulder even as I manoeuvred him between myself and the elevators. My wounded chest stung with even that small effort, but I kept the pain from making its way to my face. “I wasn’t here, obviously, because I was occupied dealing with the root cause of the problem. Anyone with time to breathe down your neck clearly wasn’t doing the same. Care to brief me on what has been done while I’ve been busy?”

“There are alerts for this sort of thing,” the Egyptian stated disapprovingly. “Protocols to be followed.” He wore a long, loose shirt halfway to a galabeya, metallic blue embroidered with smooth gold curves. An iridescent blue ankh tipped with gold hung from his neck against his skin, reminding me vaguely of Kali. He made to move a step back in the direction of his office, but I tightened my fingers just a tad and cut it short in its tracks.

I had no idea whatsoever what measures he was talking about. Something I’d need to be wary of, lest it trip me up. “Oh,” I remarked, removing my hand in a mock-defensive gesture. “Well, next time I suppose I’ll spend half an hour fulfilling protocols instead of acting. All while the scales tip past the point of no return. How poor of me for prioritising results over punctuality. Indeed I’ve learnt my lesson.”

He shot me a wary look but knew better than to ask. Of everyone manager-level or above, I couldn’t have picked a better target for impersonation. I knew Odin’s history, his quirks – I could even work most of the same magic to a lesser degree of competency. It was almost a little concerning how easy it was to slip into the role, with fewer adjustments needed to my usual demeanour. Almost, but not quite.

I kept my steps a toe’s length behind Djehuti’s as we walked to the lifts, just enough to put him in the lead without letting on. When we arrived at the metal contraptions, it felt natural for him to be the one to scan his access card. So far so good.

“You seem unconcerned.” His voice came out strained.

I shrugged. “I’ve solved the problem. Why wouldn’t I be?” I let a grin spread across my face. “When those ninnies find out what’s been going on under their noses – oh, there’ll be a reckoning. So what’s the status? Everything falling apart, I take it?”

The manager sniffed, dragging his feet as we entered the lift. “You tell me, since you seem to think you know so much. Task volume is surging, but we can handle it. Helpdesk operations haven’t changed. Finance have already been busy dealing with yesterday’s trade interruptions in South-East Asia, and they’re predicting global economic upheavals if this doesn’t get sorted out in the next hour. That’s going to impact our budget allowances. Critical supply grids running on solar power are collapsing one after the other –”

“- I meant useful information,” I interrupted him, ignoring the roll of the eyes I received in response. “As for power grids, take Inti or Amaterasu off Helpdesk duty and plug them into a national distributor. Better yet, boot them into space and force them to watch the Cats musical until they agree to be a temporary substitute.”

“With what authority?” Djehuti snapped. “Maintenance comes under Operations’ purview, not ours. And since when did you know or care about Cats?”

“Please. There’s been no form of psychological torture invented I haven’t taken at least some level of interest in. Purely for practical purposes, of course.” I sighed. “But you are right. Operations is at fault here, Vishnu the one with explaining to do. I don’t imagine it will be pretty.”

Providence’s managers were invariably selected from among the upper tier of power, and Djehuti was no exception. He would be a good person to have onside, if I could manage it. For one thing, the god of writing provided the perfect counter to arguably the most powerful member of the executive team - Enki. Depending on who you asked, the Sumerian god of magic might have been the closest thing to a truly omnipotent deity the world had, even more than the tyrant himself. His ability to mould the rules to suit his whims would have been unstoppable given enough time and lack of supervision. But he was slow, and the bulk of his magic was powered by words. Not unlike runic magic, for that matter. I doubted it was a coincidence the tyrant had appointed him Odin’s understudy.

In theory, Djehuti could simply take the words back. I didn’t know what would happen to an edict nullified in this manner, but I wanted to believe things would go back to the way they had been before its creation.

It was possible Djehuti could be the key to reversing the afterlife problem. Though of course it could never be that simple. A wall of executives, including Enki himself, stood between us and the solution. Crippled without their seers, but a formidable force nonetheless. Then there was the matter that I didn’t know where the edict was, and asking directly would raise alarms. Odin would already have known.

It wouldn’t surprise me to find it was within Thoth’s capabilities to castrate every word in existence if it came to it, but as a price it was almost too steep to pay. I liked words. Most people did, even if they didn’t admit it. Without them, we’d have a whole lot of frantic hand-waving, completely broken lines of communication and enormous population surges into whatever newly-spawned afterlives joined the void as a result. It’d be hilarious for all of about fifteen minutes until the first time you tried to talk to someone about why. And I couldn’t see Djehuti agreeing to it.

“I try to stay out of politics,” the manager sniffed as the lift continued its ascent. “But Hera’s livid and out for blood. Specifically yours. It’s clear she thinks you have something to do with this, and honestly, I’m inclined to agree.”

“Such little faith,” I said. “Have I ever let the business down?”

Djehuti gave me the side-eye. “Vishnu is also not someone you want to provoke right now,” he continued. “It doesn’t look like his investigations have been turning up much, and it’s his department on the line. Enki is putting in a token effort, but you can tell he doesn’t really care. He’s not the one you need to convince. The only one approaching a reasonable mood is Legba, and that should concern you as much as the others. If not more. He’s enjoying this whole thing more than he should and I fear it’s giving him ideas.”

“Good,” I replied. “We can use ideas. Perhaps if we had more of them, we wouldn’t have ended up in this predicament.”

The elevator doors sprang open with a ping, revealing an elegant white hall lined with paper-thin translucent walls. Occasional shadows moved behind them, their exact movements obscured. Conference rooms. I made to step out, and noticed my companion made no move to follow. “If you want my advice,” he said, “- genuine advice – say your piece and calm things down for an expedient resolution. Put your differences aside in this matter, because you all need to come together as a united front. Show Yahweh you already have a solution. Everyone saw what happened on Tuesday. We’re walking on eggshells, Odin. All of us.”

“You say ‘we’, but I’m the one with the solution,” I responded, holding a hand out to prevent the door closing. “Proof I didn’t land this job for my pretty face. And it seems to me that if I’m the only one pulling my weight in an emergency, some consequences for those who aren’t are only to be expected. You don’t get to be this far up without taking on some accountability.”

Djehuti only regarded me in silence, his face expressionless.

“Don’t you at least want to know what happened?” I asked, after a few seconds of this.

“No,” he answered, stepping further back into the lift. “I want to do my job. And I would like there to be a job for me to do. You’ve heard what I have to say, and I have nothing else to offer you.” He looked pointedly towards the door, and I realised my hand was no longer blocking it, as if I’d misjudged the distance. But Djehuti was as much about spatial geometry as he was about words, and none of Providence’s managers were to be taken lightly. Rumour had it the job interviews had been gruelling.

The doors closed between us, the eyes of the ibis boring into mine until the last moment when the soft whirr of machinery carried him away. Only then did I begin to experience jitters. From what Thoth had insinuated, it sounded like this would be a meeting between Yahweh’s immediate underlings, but not the head honcho himself. One major problem less to worry about. Even without the resident information vacuum in play, however, it would only take a single misstep to send the entire ruse crumbling to pieces. A question I couldn’t answer, a spell I couldn’t cast, a door I couldn’t open. Literal in the case of the latter, not metaphorical. Apollo's clearance pass wouldn't get me everywhere.

My footsteps rang out, their echoes the only noise present other than the soft sounds of my own movements. The shadows behind the walls gave no indication they could hear me passing; nor did they make any sound of their own. Perfect aural privacy. Every so often, numbered doors would appear in the walls, breaking the monotony of the passage. I kept going until I reached number seven, hesitating a moment at the sight of the four vague outlines I could see inside.

Four, not five. Good start.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eye and put my hand to the door. Moment of truth. I was about to find out exactly what went on at the heart of Providence’s operations. The only question would be whether or not I’d come out the other side.