Chapter 140 A Public Functionary
POV: Vampire Bureaucrat | Parliament Administrative Office, Whitehall
The office of Supernatural Regulatory Affairs occupied the third floor of a building that looked like a solicitor's firm from the street, which was intentional. The humans who worked in the building below never came up to the third floor. The lock on the stairwell door ensured that, along with a mild compulsion ward that made anyone who touched the handle suddenly remember something urgent they needed to do elsewhere.
Reginald Holt had worked in this office for forty years, which in vampire terms was barely an apprenticeship, but in bureaucratic terms made him the institutional memory of the entire department. He knew where every form lived. He knew which regulation superseded which other regulation. He knew, most importantly, how long each approval process was legally permitted to take before it became actionable delay.
The answer, in most cases, was a very long time indeed.
He pulled the Rookeries file from the stack on his left and set it in front of him with the careful precision of a man who understood that paperwork was a weapon and intended to use it correctly.
Autonomous Zone Designation: approved by Parliament vote, now requiring implementation documentation. Which required a Territorial Classification Form, which required a surveyor's assessment, which required a licensed supernatural surveyor, of which there were currently four in London, two of whom were on waiting lists running fourteen months and two of whom had scheduling conflicts with prior Parliamentary engagements. Holt had checked personally.
He moved to the next section. Construction permits. The Rookeries shelter network had submitted seventeen applications over the past two months. Isla Reid's medical operation wanted to expand into a second building, requiring structural assessment, zoning review, health and safety inspection under the Supernatural Habitation Code of 1987, and a counter-signature from the Territorial Authority, which was technically Holt's office and which had a current processing backlog of eleven months.
He stamped the first three applications PENDING ASSESSMENT and set them in the outgoing tray.
Business licenses. Twelve applications. A supply trader wanting to move wolfsbane antidote through a proper storefront rather than underground. A fae-touched herbalist applying to operate openly. A packless wolf requesting a license to teach combat training, which required background clearance through the Supernatural Criminal Registry, which required a formal request to the Registry office, which operated out of a different building entirely and had its own backlog.
PENDING was a very useful word. It was accurate, which was important. Holt had no interest in falsifying records. Everything he was doing was entirely legal, which was the point Lord Mordaunt had made when he'd called two months ago, in that pleasant quiet voice that didn't need to raise itself to make its meaning clear.
"Slow it down," Mordaunt had said. "Not stopped. Not denied. Delayed. Legal, clean, and indefinitely pending."
Holt understood systems. Systems were his natural habitat. A system that ran correctly produced outcomes. A system that ran slowly produced the same outcomes, only later, and "later" was sometimes a synonym for "never" when the parties involved were running out of resources.
He picked up the medical supply application and read through it. Isla Reid was requesting bulk approval for antibiotics, copper-threaded bandaging materials, wolfsbane antidote in concentrated form, and a list of surgical instruments. The application was thorough and well-documented, which suggested someone had helped her prepare it, someone who understood the process.
He found three items on the list that required cross-referencing with the Controlled Supernatural Substances Register. Cross-referencing required a written request. Written requests were processed in order of receipt.
He wrote the request, dated it, and placed it at the bottom of the incoming pile.
Then he picked up the phone.
"The Rookeries materials," he said, when Mordaunt's assistant answered. He kept his voice professional. This was a professional relationship. "Medical supplies, construction permits, business licensing. The backlog alone will hold them through spring. After that, the cross-reference process for the medical materials runs another four to six months." He paused. "The construction permits could conceivably be processed within the year if they appeal. Appeals go to the Regulatory Review Board, which meets quarterly."
He listened.
"Yes," he said. "Legal. Completely clean." Another pause. "No, they won't be able to prove intent. It's just the process." He glanced at the Rookeries file, now marked across the top with seventeen PENDING stamps in red ink. "They'll be bankrupt in six months from permit delays alone. Legal, clean, effective."
He hung up and returned to his work.
The stack on his left was very large. He was, by nature, a methodical man.