The following week, Martin found himself back at Vicar Corvus’ parish. This week the Vicar was off on some task and another of the priests was holding mass. This particular understudy lacked the Vicar’s flair for story telling and ear for rhetoric and had turned a rather familiar story into such an excuse for cheap moralizing Martin was almost impressed. He was so impressed in fact, if not for his desire to get in Deacon Thomas’ good graces, he would have let the moralizing drive him swiftly off to sleep in the pews of the church.

  He did not fall asleep, however, and instead let his thoughts drift to the events of the week prior. When Martin had pulled himself out of the Ossuary, it was already dawn the following day. By the time he would have cleaned himself up and dragged himself across town to the Landing, he would have missed the morning assignments. Thus he resigned himself to two days without wages. At least he was alive, and hopefully Boudica would let him slide with that, he hoped. A faceless boy was waiting for him when he stepped into the morning light. The boy brought him back wordlessly to the Faceless Chapel, where Jacques gave him a much warmer welcome.

  Martin’s wound was treated and he was assured by the masked nuisance inspector Jacques had summoned that there should be no lasting damage from the wound, physically or psychologically.

  Rafe’s coins, Martin kept to give to Boudica. Everything else he entrusted to the Faceless God. He thought for a moment about keeping Rafe’s dagger—the psychological damage was quite strong and the after image effect was also quite impressive—but he had his own dagger already, one with far fewer side effects.

  Jacques seemed pleased with Martin’s account of the story, and his judgement, and promised to pass the offering along to the Faceless God.

  “I cannot speak for our lord,” he said, “but I imagine with this service and offering you might be able to support a second disguise. You’d best be thinking about a new target.”

  As the priest droned on, the Faceless Man reviewed the people he had met since taking over Martin’s life. The main goal for him was still to gain access to Bartholomew Crane, and no one he had encountered was in a position he could take over and take advantage of without immediately being discovered. Harrow crossed his mind, but even with weeks of research there was too much knowledge of dockyard internals he’d need to take over. And if the faceless man was being completely honest, he had a growing respect for the dockyard enforcer, and he’d be reluctant to take his life, particularly just to crash and burn. If that happened, he would be right back at square one.

  Despite the droning nature of the sermon, mass finished much earlier than Corvus’ usually did. As a result, Martin had some time before he was due to meet Will back at the park of the daughter. Having had his fill of stress for a while, he used the time to make a rare trip to a coffee house. Martin had tasted coffee numerous times before from the various street stalls, and while he had found the smell of the roasted beans appealing, the taste of the drink itself had left a lot to be desired. He had heard the gossip from several fellow dockers now of a new coffee making device that had been imported recently from the continent. People were raving about the much cleaner taste and improved texture of the drink, so Martin took this opportunity to test it out. He found a coffee shop near the park and entered. After a brief chat with the shop master he found himself sitting at the table with his newspaper and a fresh pot put in front of him.

  The pot had two parts. The top part had been filled with coffee beans and placed on top of the bottom part, which was empty. The two parts were kept separate by several layers of cloth filter. After a moment, the shop master came over with water that had been recently removed from a boil and poured it into the top pot. After a moment, the first drip of coffee fell down into the bottom pot with a pleasing sound. A moment later came the second drip. And Martin waited, and waited, and finished his newspaper, and waited, and waited. Finally, the shop master came over and lifted the pot to check on the bottom. At this point, the water had cooled considerably and he could touch the pot without any fear of burns.

  “Give it just another minute or two,” he said, “and then enjoy it quickly before any more of the heat leaves.”

  Martin nodded and gave a quick word of thanks. He checked the clock on the wall and realized he didn’t have time to enjoy the coffee any way but quickly if he still wanted to make his appointment with Will. After giving it a final moment, Martin removed the top pot and poured the dark contents of the bottom part into the cup the shop master had brought him. Into the cup he added a generous helping of sugar and then he went to taste the warm drink.

  After just one sip he could understand why people had been raving about it. Even just warm, it had a flavor much improved from previous coffee he had tried, and with the added sugar he could feel his energy rushing back into his body. He downed the remaining contents in a few quick gulps, leaving just a touch of liquid, filled with the small bits of bean that got through the filter, swirling at the bottom of the cup.

  He gave the master a nod of thanks and got up to leave. As he folded up his newspaper to place it in his jacket, he heard a deep voice say, “Martin? Is that you Martin?’

  Martin turned around to see a broad shoulder man with wavy blonde hair looking at him. In his hand was a thick packet of papers and he was flanked on either side by two young men, also holding papers, pens, and books.

  “It is you,” the man said, “you didn’t strike me as one for coffee shops.”

  “Had some time so I figured I’d see what all the fuss was about. Are you a regular here, John?” Martin replied.

  John Smith was another veteran stevedore at Crane’s Landing. While not holding any official position, he was widely respected throughout the dockyard as a mediator and voice of reason. Many whispered Crane had pursued him as a possible successor to Harrow, but John had turned him down as he was perpetually loyal to the working man. He was, as he told Crane and anyone who would listen, was a man destined to change the world for the better. If Martin had to guess, he’d say that was probably what brought John to this particular coffee shop today.

  “It’s been growing on me. I was raised to be fearful of coffee or any strange beverage that affects my mind, but I’ll be damned if the stuff isn’t effective.” John said with a laugh. He made eye contact with the shop owner and arranged a table for himself and the two men flanking him. He didn’t introduce the two men by name, but sent them over to the table first. After they had made their way over and put their materials down, John turned back to Martin.

  “These are a couple of dockers from one of the Southern docks. They’ve been working on putting a strike together. Why don’t you come join us?”

  “Ah, thanks for the offer, but I’m afraid I have a previous commitment I have to go off to.”

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  “Shame that,” was all John said, rapidly losing interest in Martin if he wasn’t interested in his schemes.

  “Best of luck with the revolution,” Martin said by way of goodbye, tapping John on the shoulder with a gentle pat. John was taller and larger than Martin, but the gesture somehow came across as an older brother encouraging a younger sibling. Martin wasn’t sure how old John was or who was older, but if he was asked in a more cynical moment, he’d describe John as too old to be so idealistic about the way the world could be. Martin left the coffee shop on his way to his own foolish quest, teaching an orphan to read so he could decipher old works of ancient secrets and maps to buried treasure.

  Will was waiting for Martin under the same tree as last week. A pile of newspapers sat beside him, their pages folded every which way to reveal different articles Will wanted to read through. Will’s excitement was palpable, and with the way his body couldn’t sit still as Martin approached, one would think that he was the one who had just consumed coffee rather than Martin.

  With Will’s eagerness to get into it, Martin wasted little time with free talk before diving into their first article. They started with Will’s stack first, starting with another opinion piece about the condition of the Royal Navy and their role in the world. Martin was glad he had the coffee to keep him awake through that but Will was completely invested in the narrative.

  From there they moved on to another opinion piece regarding the poor of the capital and the need for more orphanages to keep children off the streets, especially in light of the rise of predators recently.

  “We can’t go a week without news of the Grey Man it seems.”

  “Yeah. I just hope they catch him before he takes someone I know.” Will said. The Grey Man was a threat to everyone, but Martin realized that the threat was closer to home to Will than it was to himself.

  “Let’s change the subject. I had one article I wanted to look at, and I think we have time for one more of your choosing.”

  Will chose a brief interview with the designer of the Monitor, the imperial Navy’s new ironclad vessel. Originally planned to be a secret, somehow word had gotten out and Navy Intelligence had pivoted to promoting the new ship to every corner of the world as a sign of imperial might. The ship hadn’t launched yet and of course would be an active service vessel, so exact details were still tightly under wraps, but rumors of its destructive strength and invulnerability to traditional cannon fire were already making the rounds. Will was fascinated with the story and had been following its development, as a result he was familiar with most of the words that came up over the article and was able to give his most impressive showing of the day, needing only a few small corrections from Martin.

  Finally they looked at the paper Martin had acquired the other day, with its article about the warehouse fire. Will gave Martin a look and asked why they were reading such a story.

  Martin told him it was to get a slightly different change of pace to make sure he developed as a well rounded reader. If Will had any suspicions about that, he didn’t say and dove quickly into the article. This one was about the capital, which Will knew like the back of his hand, but he was thrown by a few of the bigger words like conflagration.

  “Did you hear anything about this fire,” Martin asked.

  “Nothing in particular, but I know that area. It’s mostly warehouses of former companies that have gone under. Someone has since bought them and kept them closed down, but there’s all sorts of stories of people going in there at odd hours and sounds of violence and other less natural noises coming from behind the doors.”

  “Hmm, sounds like a place better avoided.”

  “Right you are sir, a friend of mine got mugged prowling around that area at night once. Said he was lucky to have escaped with his life he was.”

  “Well learn from his lesson then, and keep reviewing what we practiced today. You’re doing quite well, Will. You’ll be a master reader in no time.”

  “They’ll have me doing the announcements at the public executions any day now I’m sure.” Will said in a voice dripping with self deprecating humor, but it was clear by the look on his face that he was happy to receive that compliment, sincere or otherwise.

  The two packed up their newspapers, Martin let Will take the one he brought as he had no further need for it, and went their separate ways. Rather than go straight back, Martin decided to take a walk around the park and then take a long way home to burn off some of the extra energy from the coffee. The park was not particularly stunning, especially not in this season, so there was little for Martin to admire other than the careful arrangement of the trees, the neatness in which they were kept, and the overall symmetry of the park itself.

  His battle with the servant of the beautiful goddess had been reduced to nothing but a typical warehouse fire. His battle with Rafe had taken place miles below the surface, leaving just another body among countless more. Martin had to wonder how many more cosmic related events were occurring each day in a city as large as Alderbridge. His breathing steadied as he circled the park, letting himself explore the flow of power he had begun to practice with Jacques. After his offering of Rafe’s dagger, he wondered if he would see an increase there. The clock chimed five o’clock and Martin began to make for home.

  As he left the park and turned into an unfamiliar side street, he felt the faintest sense that he was being pulled somewhere. He followed the feeling and turned into a smaller side street, and there between two houses he spotted the origin of the sensation.

  Leaned up against the wall of the house were three crudely carved pieces of wood. Two were straight up and the third was lodged on top, perpendicular to the other two, forming a sort of gate. There were no fastenings for a door or any kind of fencing, so Martin had little clue what it would be a gate for. He let his curiosity draw him closer and reached out a hand to touch the gate. Immediately he felt he was being watched. He quickly withdrew his hand and looked about the street. There was no one about and the only nearby windows were shuttered. He looked back at the gate. He was sure he was being watched, but the sensation did not feel malicious, it was more curious. Slowly, he reached out to touch the gate again and now was sure he was being watched.

  He waited for a moment, wondering if a message or sign would accompany the sense of being watched, but nothing came. He withdrew his hand again and looked once more around the street.

  Wondering if he had found another piece of a cosmic puzzle here in the capital, he could only resolve himself to check with Jacques next time he saw him. Either that, or he mused he should quit drinking coffee. Regardless, with a final look at the abandoned gate there in the alley, Martin made his way home.

  Boudica was home already, working on a stew. She greeted him as he arrived.

  “Evening love. Enjoy your day off?”

  “I did, thanks. Just took a bit of a walk around the city.”

  “Nowhere too off the beaten path, I hope. There’s more and more strangeness these days. I’d hate to have someone wearing your face.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m still very much attached to my face.” Martin went over and helped slice the last few vegetables to go into the stew. Boudica raised her eyebrow at his helpfulness, but didn’t say anything.

  When he had returned last week, all he had told her was that the issue was finished. Her response was the equally brief “I didn’t know you still had it in you.” The offering of Rafe’s money to offset the financial burden went further to cut off questions, but Boudica did admonish him to stay away from any other former sailors who might bring him trouble.

  “You’ve left the colonies, and left a large piece of yourself there too. Keep what’s left here with me.”

  Silent with their own thoughts, they set the table. As they ate they realized next weekend would be a rare time that they were both off on the same day. They made plans to go to the market together and spoke of a few things they needed for the house. Together they washed the dishes and got ready for bed. As he lay there, Martin’s guilt began to beat at his chest. This was a form of happiness, one he could easily see himself enjoying under different circumstances. Granted the real Martin had been a drunk and abusive, but with better choices on his part he and Boudica could have continued to be in love. Now his choices were leading him somewhere he had never planned to go. Jacques had warned him that he needed to find a balance between being true himself and being true to the role he was playing. Boudica’s slowly growing warmth to him seemed evidence to him that he had found that balance. He could only hope he didn’t end up hurting Boudica in the end.