Boots for the Gentleman by Augusta Li & Eon de Beaumont

enchantment. And Thimbleroy thinks he can get rid of them.”
    “But back to the point,” Reg said, pulling his watch from his waistcoat pocket and flipping it open. “We’re no further ahead than we were. We still have no idea why Frolic was made or what Thimbleroy wants with him.”
    “Don’t forget, Reg, Thimbleroy doesn’t know Frolic is what he’s after. He doesn’t know what he should’ve found in that cellar, does he?”
    “No, I don’t believe he does. Still, you must be careful. Could you, I don’t know, do something about his hair? Tuck it up or flatten it out?”
    Querry just laughed, and then he remembered something. “I say, Reg, would you happen to have some spare ink and a few sheets of writing paper?”
    Reg produced them from his case, along with an expensive pen and blotter, and Querry put them in his coat pocket.
    “What will we do now?” Frolic asked. “Could we go for a walk down by the water?”
    “Join us?” Querry asked Reg.
    “You know I can’t.”
    “Why?” Frolic asked.
    “It’s very complex,” he said, not unkindly, to Frolic. “I don’t think you’d be able to understand it all yet.” He stood, pushed his chair in, and lifted his hat to put it on.
    Getting to his feet, Querry said, “Let’s do what we said, Reg. Let’s get a boat and leave this place. I’ll be safe. Frolic will be safe. We won’t have to worry over all this strange business ever again. We’ll be able to live the way we want.” He came closer, and said in a low voice, “You’d be able to kiss me whenever you felt like it and scream my name at the top of your voice when I made love to you.”
    “Querry!”
    “Well, we have only to go.”
    Regaining his composure and taking an embroidered tissue from his pocket to dab at his sparkling forehead, Reg said, “Boats don’t grow on trees, Querry. And none of us knows how to sail.”
    “I’ll steal a boat. I’ll learn to sail. How hard can it be?”
    Frolic gave a little hop. “Oh, doesn’t that sound lovely? Can’t we go right away?” He reached out and took Reggie’s hand, looking at him expectantly. Much to Querry’s surprise, Reg didn’t recoil. Holding Reg’s fingers, Frolic bounced on the balls of his feet while he awaited Reg’s reply.
    But instead, the archivist addressed the thief. “It’s not right to fill his head with this nonsense, Querry.”
    “Oh, come on, Reg! You can’t still be considering marriage!”
    “Of course. I have every intention of fulfilling my duties.”
    “They’ll be expecting an heir. What will you do then?”
    “I’ll produce one.”
    Querry made an exasperated noise, lost for words. Beside him, Frolic’s expression changed: his brows and mouth set into hard, straight lines. He dropped Reg’s hand and set his own on his hip, chin lifted. “I, too, will find my duty and fulfill it, Reginald Whitney.”
    “Frolic!” Querry said. “I thought we’d cleared this matter.”
    The three of them stood in a triangle, each man’s presence suddenly awkward to every other. Querry looked down at his boot, while Reg fidgeted with the clasps on his case. Frolic’s eyes darted rapidly from the archivist to the thief. He seemed to sense the shift in mood, but didn’t seem able to comprehend its cause nor correct it. Clearing his throat, Reg set his bowler on his head, mumbling that he needed to be off.
    “You’ll contact me if you learn anything more?” Querry asked.
    When Reg didn’t reply, but stood looking at Querry with a mixture of longing, exasperation, and possibly pity, Frolic once again took his hand, saying, “Please help me find out my purpose.”
    With a deep sigh, Reg said, “If I come across any pertinent information, I’ll find a way to convey it to the two of you. Until then, I beg you, Querry, to be careful. Don’t do anything foolish or flashy. Just keep your head down. Both of you.”
    “Reg—”
    “I really need to be off. Mother will be asking