Ridley sneered. “None of his actions can be laid at our feet. Drawing unwanted attention, conspiring with political factions who are no better than mercenaries, Brandt relinquished his position the moment he stopped following orders and made a mockery of this establishment.”
The factions’ involvement was new. Percy tucked the information away. “You mean the momentyoulost control ofhim.”
“Some in this office would claim you are the same liability.” Ridley studied him thoughtfully. “You’ve made some powerful friends in the past years: dukes, duchesses, brothel madams.”
Now they came to it. “How well informed you are.”
“And now a duke yourself. What a turn of events.”
Percy snorted at the other man’s derisive tone. “Had I known my lineage was so well titled, things would have been different, trust me.”
“Then you knew nothing?”
Percy’s gaze narrowed. “Did you?”
“No.” Ridley’s displeased tone assuaged Percy’s suspicions. His greatest skill had always been anonymity.
Ridley confirmed as much when he said, “We don’t make a habit of recruiting men too easily identified by the populace.”
“But that doesn’t make me without use.”
Ridley smiled. “You were always quick to the take.” The older man rubbed his face, and the calculating gleam in his eyes faded. “The truth is I’ve known of your voluntary retirement for some time and chose to keep it to myself. You were a fine officer and a sublime aide-de-camp for our headquarters, and I wouldn’t ask for your assistance if I believed there was anyone else who stood a chance at silencing Brandt.”
As far as compliments went, it was gushing.
“Your recent rise to notoriety complicates the situation, but not egregiously,” he went on. “I could have torn up your orders for recommission as soon as they passed by my desk, but to put it plainly, I knew you would not darken my door for anything less than a command from the Crown itself. So I took advantage.”
“You didn’t send the orders yourself?” Percy didn’t like that one bit.
Ridley shared his displeasure. “I tracked the informant as far as the Birmingham East Office, where the name and sighting were lost in a contained fire too convenient to be anything but intentional.”
Nic’s signature.
Percy fought a shudder. “Then you’re desperate?”
Ridley stood and went to the window that looked out onto the busy thoroughfare. “I’m not a young man anymore. I’ve scraped and worked my way up the ladder for a legacy I can leave my sons, and security I can leave my family. More so than any viscountcy.” He rubbed his face again, the action leaving years behind in the creases around his eyes and mouth. “Decades of intrigue and death, conspiracies and cover-ups. I’ve done my best to act with honor and make decisions that are in the best interests of England.”
He turned to face Percy, his once-broad shoulders weighed down with responsibility. “I’m tired, Percy. In the coming years, I have every intention of enjoying my own retirement. I’ve cleaned house, tied up missions, and trained my new protegees to a degree near criminal. Everything is finished, except this.”
He took the papers from his desk—what Percy now saw were his official orders of reinstatement—and tore them in half before tossing them into the fire, where they curled into a smoky promise.
“Do this for me, old friend,” Ridley said, all manner of antics absent from his tone and face. “You’ll have the full cooperation of the Home Office and any agents at your disposal. Do this, and you will be redacted from every letter, every memory in every mission, and be free to the life of luxury you deserve. I promise you.”
The offer was generous, but the consequences if the mission failed were long reaching. Nothing was that simple. There was more than one rat in the hen house it seemed, which made contacts and resources restricted regardless of old Ridley’s best intentions. But as Percy knew, the HO wasn’t without its use, either.
“And if I don’t succeed?” Percy asked.
Ridley’s expression was nothing short of disparaging. “For all our sakes, pray you do.”
Percy nodded, a haphazard strategy forming to encapsulate the resources now at his fingertips that weren’t tainted. Things like hermit inventors, government pardons, and incinerators to hide the bodies. With some luck, he may be able to mend fences and recruit an army at the same time. It would take a horde of demons to take on the Devil. Nic’s inability to control his collateral damage would be the death of him.
“I have a plan,” Percy said, calculating the players in this final game. “But you may need to compromise some of those honorable intentions.”
Ridley’s relieved expression turned to one of business and resignation. “Tell me.”
“You admonish the mercenary.” Percy smiled, knowing there was a good chance they’d all be dead by week’s end. “But how do you feel about loveable rookery gangs?”
