Chapter Twenty-One
Percy eyed hiscompanions, taking up half the carriage on the seat across from him. “Tell me again why you two tagged along?”
“Because your wife asked for our help.” Hamish crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back into the cushions, his black sleeves straining against the muscles. “And to keep you from doing something stupid.”
“Not me,” Renard said from beside him, looking out the window at the dark streets, his light hair looking ridiculous with his new haircut sheared so close to his head.
The style made sense to differentiate him from Nic should the bastard show up—Percy had made the mistake himself before—but really. A man must draw the line at looking like a harvested sheep.
“I came to watch the spectacle,” Renard explained.
Percy frowned. “I don’t need an escort. It’s not like I’ll kill him.”
Both men turned to him then, neither looking convinced.
Blowing hair from his eyes, Percy wished for the sixth time he hadn’t left his bowler hat at home, if only to block the sight of his friends’ meddling faces. “I’d never harm the crackpot. Tease mercilessly and set his latest contraption on fire out of spite, sure, but you must agree, it’s for the man’s own good?”
Percy wasn’t even certain a blaze would be of note to the inventor. Knowing Gregori, he’d work around the flames and usethe heat to forge a new batch of glass until his skin blistered. His focus was a downright health risk.
“Thosecontraptionsare what’s flooding the rookeries with revenue and new jobs,” Hamish said testily. “I’d rather theyandmy man stay intact.”
Percy rolled his eyes. “Tell me, do you express the milk first, or do you let Gregori suck directly from your tit?”
Hamish didn’t take the bait. “If you’d tell us what this is about, we wouldn’t need to follow you around.”
“Sorry, Your Grace. I’m not currently in need of a nursemaid.”
The carriage slowed to a halt and a distant horn blared from one of the ships coming into port through a thick blanket of fog over the harbor.
Percy exited the coach before the rest and made his way to the last warehouse on the wharf before giving the door a solid kick. “Wake up, Crackpot. I’ve a job for you.”
The door opened a minute later, a disheveled Gregori complete with oil-stained breeches and a coat two sizes too big standing in the doorway. Upon seeing Percy, his gaze narrowed.
“We didn’t make an appointment,” Gregori said.
Percy made sure to show all his teeth when he smiled. “It’s a surprise visit, friend.”
Hamish and Renard came up on either side of him, like two enforcers standing guard... or two parents hovering over their willful child.
Percy’s jaw clenched, but he kept smiling. “Won’t you invite us in?”
Gregori glanced at Hamish. “Is he here to kill me?”
“Undetermined.”
For fuck’s sake! “I need to borrow one of those one-way mirror things you designed, okay? The product sample from the Prodding Pony.” Percy shot Hamish a scathing glare. “Happy?”
“Depends on what the mirror is for.”
“To show the optimal angle of your innards sliding out your body when I gut you.”
“Wouldn’t a regular mirror suffice?” Gregori asked, unalarmed and oblivious as always.
“Not for what I need. I’ll be building a well-placed peephole in a tavern on the docks. About”—Percy made the rough dimensions with his hands—“this size. Six and six?”
“That’s at least eight,” Gregori said.
Percy dropped his hands, his ability to keep from throttling the whole group a credit to his endless humor. “Do you have it or not?”
