Ptuiii!!! Percy spat on the ground and turned around without a word walking back toward the street
Lyro seeing this panicked as he quickly make himself presentable .
"Hey !! it's not what it looks like."
But Percy kept walking.
"Valemont." He ran towards his direction with incredible speed l.
"I will not have my image shattered by a newbie."
Percy turned the corner back onto Marco Street and stepped through the door of George Eats without looking back. He moved to his spot near the wall and folded his arms.
Through the window he watched Lyro emerge from the alley, look left, look right, and then jog down the street in entirely the wrong direction.
"Where did you go?"
Percy turned. Miss Gracy was watching him with a slight frown.
"Fresh air," he said.
She looked at him for a moment before deciding not to pursue it. Silia had finished her conversation with the owner and was making her way back across the room, looking satisfied in the quiet way she looked satisfied when things had gone according to plan.
"It's settled," she said. "Evening reservation, day of the festival."
Gareth stood from the table he had been occupying. "Good."
"Shall we?"
They filed out onto the street. Silia raised her hand almost immediately and a large public carriage rolled to a stop, three zebras pulling it, their breath misting in the morning cool.
They climbed in together and the carriage moved off toward Beningham Street.
Percy did not look back to see if Lyro was still running.
---
The other workers had already arrived by the time they reached the shop. The bell chimed as they entered and several heads turned from their stations.
Word about the restaurant spread the way everything did in Beningham Styles, which was within approximately ninety seconds.
Benny appeared at Percy's shoulder before he had even reached his aisle and delivered a firm slap between his shoulder blades.
"Good job, boy."
Percy scratched the back of his head and smiled awkwardly. "It wasn't a big deal."
Gareth, passing behind him with a bolt of cloth under his arm, paused long enough to raise a thumb without stopping. "It isn't often," that Mrs. Gracy and I agree on something."
Percy nodded and settled into his station.
The morning moved the way mornings at Beningham Styles usually moved. The familiar sounds filled in around him, scissors and machines and the low murmur of voices, and Percy let his hands find their work while his thoughts stayed elsewhere.
He was halfway through the first order when the bell above the door chimed.
Silia rose from her seat to attend to it. Percy kept his eyes on the fabric in front of him.
Then came the sound.
A hard clank, sharp enough to cut through everything else. The shop went quiet.
Percy looked up.
Miss Gracy had backed away from the front of the shop, her face pale, her eyes fixed on something ahead of her. The other workers had frozen at their stations.
Percy stood slowly.
The man was enormous. Six foot three at least, with a crude beard . He held a machete in one hand. In the other, he had Silia by the throat.
Silia's hands were at her sides. Her face was white but her jaw was set and she was not making a sound, which Percy suspected was costing her considerably.
"Anyone who tries to shout," the man said, his voice flat and unhurried, "I will cut her."
Behind him, four more men filed through the door. Smaller than the one holding Silia but carrying blades of their own. They spread out across the shop rather fluidly like people who had done this before many times.
Mr. Bram stood further back near the counter, his hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles white.
One of the men stepped forward and swept his gaze across the workers.
"Everyone. Come here."
Nobody moved for a moment. The man holding Silia pressed the machete slightly closer.
The large man waited until they had gathered before he spoke again.
"You know why we're here." His eyes found Bram. "Get the money."
Two of the men moved toward Bram immediately. One pressed a blade against the side of his face without particular urgency, the way someone might rest a hand on a table.
"You heard him," the man said. "Where is it."
Bram's voice came out shaking but controlled. "Yes. I'll get it. Please don't hurt my daughter. Please."
"Hurry up." The man with the blade spat on the floor.
The workers were forced to their knees. Percy went down with the others, his hands visible, his eyes moving.
Ronan watched everything through Percy's eyes and felt something that was almost strange given the circumstances.
He looked at the man holding Silia, at the one standing guard in front of the kneeling workers, at the two near the counter with Bram, at the fourth moving along the shelves.
"What a pain."
"Hmm come to think of it, I'm surprisingly calm, aren't I?"
He turned the thought over briefly.
"Is it because they aren't unknown? They're not spirits or creatures with red eyes. They're just men."
"Not that i have encountered spirits or human monster on a regular basis"
"Men can probably still kill me. I'm outnumbered. This is objectively a dangerous situation"
Neither Ronan nor Percy was the type to be calm in a situation like this. He knew that. So the calm was rather odd to him .
He set the thought aside and looked at the man holding Silia.
The man had settled back slightly, blade at her back now rather than her throat, his attention drifting toward the counter where Bram was being hurried along. His eyes were no longer on the workers.
The guard standing in front of them had done the same, his head turned toward the sound of a drawer being opened.
Percy's gaze moved sideways to Gareth. He nudged him once slightly so as not to garner attention.
Gareth turned. His expression was the one he wore when he was angry and containing it.
Slowly, without moving his shoulders, Percy pushed his coat aside with one hand. Just enough.
Gareth's eyes dropped to the revolver. Then came back up to Percy's face.
Percy looked at the guard standing in front of them. Then toward the man holding Silia.
Gareth was still for a moment. Then he gave one short nod.
Percy's hand moved toward the revolver.
Slowly.