Oddscog wasn’t joking. Martin was there for a while. Oddscog, as brilliant as Martin could tell he was, didn’t have Jacques' patience or way with words. Combined with Martin’s complete inexperience with the mystic arts, it made for slow progress. Oddscog painstakingly described to Martin how to find the energy inside himself and draw it into the lighter, pushing it out as he flicked the switch. He mostly just watched the ring of soot grow around his thumb and an occasional extra spark. However, a few refills and several lectures later, Martin was finally able to initiate the spell.

  Despite his best efforts, Martin was unable to hypnotise Oddscog, who at this point had grown bored with Martin’s lesson and was taking apart a pocket watch. Timothy was called back out and promptly put under, and Martin had his first experience with the other curse of the item. As Timothy became frozen, the sides of Martin’s vision grew suddenly dark, and even the center took on a blur. As Timothy stood like a statue, Martin took a few pretend swings, as if he was attacking an enemy he had captured under his spell. After a brief experimentation, Martin was reasonably sure he could come out on top if he managed to catch someone in close combat range, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to take advantage of the hypnosis to actually hit anything he was aiming at with his pistol. For that matter, the range of the hypnosis would be another he would have to experiment with. This he resolved to save for a later date, as his distance from Timothy was already pushing the limits of Oddscog’s tiny shop.

  Martin let the spell resolve and rubbed idly at the ring of soot that had developed around his thumb. As Oddscog had said, it faded quickly and painlessly. Martin thought that the curse of the item was thankfully quite manageable. Even a permanent soot ring would be tough to explain to Boudica, let alone any more noticeable ill effects.

  With a word of thanks to his guinea pig, Timothy and his new teacher, Oddscog, Martin slipped the lighter back into his pocket and made his way home. He had been in the shop far longer than he had intended. Night had fallen in the city. He drew his coat a little tighter around himself and took his first couple of steps from the doorway when two men stepped out in front of him.

  The side street Oddscog’s shop was located on was not a busy one. If the men stepped out to block his way, it could only be on purpose. The taller, thinner man cracked his neck as the short, fat one produced a small metal pipe. The fat one appeared to be the leader of the duo and spoke first. He cocked his hat slightly with the pipe as he spoke. Martin couldn’t help but notice a feather tucked into the band.

  “Good evening, Martin. Would you care to follow us for a chat?”

  “Sorry, gentlemen. I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a hurry. Perhaps another time.”

  “He wasn’t asking. Not really,” the tall one chimed in.

  “I was afraid you’d say that. Would you mind terribly if I asked what this was about?”

  The fat one chuckled.

  “Let’s just say a mutual friend wanted to return a favor,” the tall one said again. The fat one shot him a look as if he had said too much, and the laughter stopped.

  The fat one gestured with his pipe toward an alley. Martin stayed still for a moment, weighing his options. If he could distract them long enough, he could take the lighter out of his pocket and possibly ignite it long enough to hypnotise both of them. However, Oddscog only had one assistant, and he had been unable to test if he could hold more than one person. On top of that, his efforts to practice with the lighter earlier had worn out a part of himself that had never been exercised before. He wasn’t sure he had the energy for that left in him, let alone to bring it to focus while two men tried to beat him. Martin was left with just one choice.

  Martin held up his hands slowly as if he was giving in and took a few steps forward. With no warning, he lashed out with his right fist, connecting with the eye of the fat man. This clearly wasn’t the man’s first fist fight, as he staggered but didn’t go down. Martin pressed on him, throwing another jab, aimed at the chin this time, hoping to jar the man enough that he could wrest the pipe from his hand.

  Martin was lucky and landed the second shot as well, but before he could follow up, a pair of arms wrapped themselves around him. The taller man had made his move, attempting to pin Martin down so the fat one could get a few swings of revenge in. Martin brought his left foot down hard on the thin man’s own foot, but found little reaction through the thick leather of his boots. Changing tactics, he brought his right elbow down hard into the thin man’s rib cage. This brought the reaction he was looking for as the thin man’s grip around him loosened enough for Martin to find his footing and lash out again at the fat man. This time, he lashed out with a kick aimed at the hand holding the pipe. The fat man was still catching his breath from the first two blows and couldn’t get out of the way. The kick landed, and the pipe went flying.

  The man behind him came for his revenge and lashed out with a punch aimed at Martin’s face. In such close proximity and coming from Martin’s blind spot, he had no chance to dodge. The blow hit hard, making Martin see stars and feel like a tooth had come loose. The tall man lifted his arm up for another blow when the door of Oddscog’s shop opened with a bang.

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  “Attack my customer, will you?”

  Oddscog’s voice blasted out onto the street. It sounded almost unnatural to have that level of volume come from a man so small, but came from him it did. As Martin’s vision cleared, he saw Oddscog hadn't rushed out unprepared. In his hands was a large blunderbuss. The gun was about sixty centimeters long and ended with a thick, flared muzzle. Oddscog pointed the weapon right at the fat man.

  “If you value your friend’s life, I suggest you let my customer go and back away slowly.”

  The fat man raised his hands slowly.

  “Slim, let him go,” he said.

  “But the boss—”

  “Let him go!”

  Martin found the arm around him suddenly removed, and he staggered forward, reaching a place beside Oddscog and spinning around to look at his assailants. His hand slipped into his pocket, ready to draw the lighter, or if it came to it, his Faceless dagger.

  “Well,” the fat man said. “I guess we’ll be seeing you.”

  The two men turned and walked down the street, the fat man stopping only to retrieve the pipe and slip it into his coat. Oddscog and Martin remained by the door for a few moments.

  “Oddscog,” Martin finally said, “thank you.”

  “Hmm. Any idea what that was about?”

  “I have a feeling they work for a man named Rafe, who I… Someone I know wronged in the past. He’s out for revenge. He’s one of the reasons I risked buying the lighter, to be honest.”

  “Jacques is an old friend, and I’ll not say no to new friends and business partners, but my shop is not a place for gang violence.” Oddscog paused to look at Martin meaningfully. “Get that sorted before you come back.”

  “I understand. Thank you again for your teaching and the rescue.”

  “Don’t mention it. Are you alright to get home?”

  “I should be.”

  “Don’t go straight back. Take the long way, and stick to busy roads.”

  Martin waved goodbye and hurried off into the evening. He took Oddscog’s parting words to heart and, after clearing the military quarter as quickly as possible, took a circuitous path back to his house. He lost himself wherever possible in the crowds of people returning home or out for some shopping and dashed into alleys and shops to see if he had been followed. Nearly an hour later, he arrived home, out of breath and paranoid, but fairly certain he hadn’t been followed.

  He opened his door and was greeted by the smell of Boudica’s cooking.

  “Evening, love. You’re home awfully late.”

  “Sorry, got a bit held up.”

  Boudica turned around to look at him and cursed.

  “What’ve you done this time?”

  “Wha—What? Nothing.”

  “Just look at yer face. Who have you been fighting with this time? It wasn’t dice again, was it?”

  “No, no dice. I swear.” Martin settled down heavily into a chair. “Some chaps tried to mug me, honest.”

  “Oh, so you lost money anyway.”

  “No, not this time. I fought them off.”

  Boudice let out a snort. “All on your lonesome did you? That navy training came flooding back, did it?”

  “I had a bit of help. A shopkeeper came out with a blunderbuss to tell the truth. A gun is far more of a deterrent than my skills.”

  “That’s the first honest thing you’ve said since you walked in the door.”

  Boudica finished chopping the last of the vegetables for the stew and added them to the pot. She quickly wiped her hands and approached Martin, taking his chin in her hand and turning his face so she could better see the bruise growing on his cheek. She brushed it gently with her thumb and came away with a bit of blood.

  “You didn’t seek out any trouble, right?”

  “I swear. I was just shopping and they ambushed me.”

  “Where were you shopping?”

  Martin hesitated a moment. He had been so preoccupied with checking for followers that he had forgotten to prepare a story. He should have just blamed the dice again.

  “A flea market in the old town. I guess I hadn’t been completely honest. I suppose I did lose a bit of money.” He produced the lighter he had bought at the black market.

  Boudica let out a sigh and went over to the cupboard to fetch some alcohol and a rag.

  “I don’t suppose you’re going to pick up tobacco next.”

  “No, no. I don’t need any more substances in my life.”

  Martin cursed as Boudica began to dab at his cheek with the alcohol soaked rag.

  “Oh, man up. Alderbridge just seems to be getting stranger and more dangerous these days. They still haven’t caught that Grey Man who’s been prowling the streets. Men are brave enough to attempt muggings in the old town. In fact, I even saw a strange man near my washer’s shop today. He was hobbling around watching the women until one of the managers chased him away. He had the strangest eye.”

  Martin grabbed her arm suddenly. He gazed at Boudica as he carefully asked.

  “What do you mean by the strangest eye?”

  “Love, you’re hurting me.” The fear was clear in Boudica’s eyes. This was nearly the first physical contact they had had in months, and she feared her husband’s true character had suddenly returned. Even worse, she had no idea what she had done to summon him.

  Martin recognised the fear in her eyes and relaxed his grip slightly.

  “The eye,” he repeated.

  “It was red, as if the blood had all burst in it, and never seemed to look forward. Why?”

  Martin could feel his heart stop. His worst fear had been realised. Rafe was coming, and not just for him. He let Boudica’s hand slip from his grasp.

  “I know that man.”