This called for the rapid emptying of a glass of gin, and Archie's mouth was currently unoccupied, the Viscount having temporarily misplaced the power of speech. He read over the article twice. There was a rather flattering account of his life and times, leaving out any spy-related business but stressing his philanthropic work strongly. Those charities would be even happier to learn of his demise, as the bulk of his fortunes were destined for various endowments and foundations. Unless they'd changed his will as well.<br/><br/>Curiously, the emotion he felt strongest, after shock, was something more like... elation. Perhaps not as happy, but a feeling of lightness and lack of connectivity. He was reading, in black and white, that his entire life was now gone. And somehow that was not quite the blow he would have expected. After all, what did he have to show for the last seven years? A few published scholarly works that were read mostly by college students forced to do so. A hundred or so crossword puzzles. Perhaps half a dozen incidents where his assistance may or may not have been useful to MI6; it was so hard to tell. What, in fact, had he lost?<br/><br/>The answer to that question would become blazingly apparent in the days to come.<br/><br/>At the bottom of his second glass he found his tongue. "Eric?" he asked. "Is he truly dead, or does he tarry with we spirits?" He<em>would</em>mourn Eric, and held his breath awaiting the reply.<br/><br/>"And if it's not too much to ask... who exactly are 'They' in this particular equation?"<br/>