those

circle.” His voice was a deep, throaty rumble; Harris thought he could feel it vibrating in the steel under his feet.
“Joseph, this is important. Angus Powrie and his new master are up to something. Using devisements and ­devices worthy of Duncan Blackletter himself. Sending agents to the grim world and bringing people like Harris back.
“You owe it to me. I freed you. Now I need you.”
Joseph stared. His expression did not change, nor did his eyes, but something did, and Harris imagined the huge, unfinished man swinging out an arm and casually batting Doc off the girder. Doc must have felt it too; he took a step back and balanced himself for trouble.
But Joseph crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. “Death follows you, Doc, and strikes down those who help you and love you while leaving you unharmed. But you’re right. I owe you a debt. I will pay it. I hope you don’t kill me in collecting it.”
Doc was silent a long moment and Harris wished he could see his face. Then Doc said, “Did Duncan ever talk about the grim world?”
“Yes.”
“Did he know devisements to take people there?”
“He went there. Not long before you caught up to him. He took gear and spent a day in that place. He left the gear there. When he returned, he said the grim world was ghastly. I think he loved it.”
“What sort of gear?”
Joseph shrugged. “Crates. Boxes. He took gold to spend.”
Doc fell silent. Harris broke in, “So did he have one of those conjurer’s circles? Do you know where it went?”
“He did. In his conjuration laboratory. It went to the grim world, as I said.”
“I meant, where in the grim—”
Doc said, “Wait. I don’t remember a conjuration laboratory. Was this at Wickhollow?”
“Yes. It was well-hidden. You never asked about it. You just wanted help dealing with your dead friends.”
Doc didn’t answer for a moment. Then, his voice more quiet: “We’ll go there tonight. You need to show me this laboratory.”
“Meet me here at four bells. Leave me