The atmosphere in the house was tense. Boudica had just retrieved her hand from her husband, still not sure what had triggered such an intense reaction. Martin stood, heading over to where his wife kept a bag she used when shopping.

  “Come on,” he said. “You can stay at Mrs. Alder’s tonight.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why,” Boudica replied, rubbing her wrist.

  “I…” Martin started, but seeing the look on his wife’s face, let out a soft sigh. He walked over to her. She flinched slightly at the proximity but allowed him to put his hands gently on her shoulder. “I wasn’t entirely honest with you, love. I was attacked outside a shop, that much is true. But they weren’t simple muggers. They work for a man named Rafe, a man I served with in the colonies. I cannot go into the particulars now, but this man holds an irrational hatred for me due to decisions I made back then. I had forgotten all about him, but I had the unfortunate pleasure of bumping into him the other day, and he’s taken the steps to turn his words of revenge into more than just that. I believe he genuinely means to kill me, and perhaps you as well.”

  Boudica was silent for a moment. The Faceless Man couldn’t be sure, but perhaps this was the most her husband had ever confided in her about his time in the service, or maybe she had heard stories of his enemies and demons before. Regardless, she could tell he was serious.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked finally.

  “Put an end to this.”

  Boudica looked the man who was her husband in the eye.

  “Can you?”

  The Faceless Man, now Martin, stared back.

  “Yes.”

  “Then okay. I’ll stay one night at Mrs Alder’s. But no more. My pride won’t allow it, and neither will the limits of her hospitality.”

  Boudica hurried to turn off the stove and cover the stew, and gather a few belongings before following her husband out into the night.

  With Boudica behind him, he didn’t move through the streets quite like he had on his way home from the military quarter, but he did take a roundabout way toward the Alder residence, softly shushing Boudica’s questions about the direction he was heading. His head turned back regularly, both to check she was still following dutifully behind him and to confirm she was the only one doing so. They arrived at the Alder’s without incident.

  Martin hadn’t remembered—or rather, the Faceless Man had no intelligence about—Mrs. Alder when she had stopped him and Will in their initial chat, but since then, he had taken the chance to investigate. She was an old friend of Boudica’s, and one she often confided in when Martin stepped too far out of line. Mrs. Alder was married to a baker, a large man named Otto who was built more like a blacksmith than a baker, and had given birth to a couple of sons who followed in their father’s footsteps, both in trade and in build. Martin couldn’t imagine Rafe storming a family like this.

  Martin stayed outside while Boudica knocked on the front door of the house. He couldn’t quite hear what Boudica said by way of explanation, but he saw Boudica gesture his way a few times and Mrs Alder shoot him a few disapproving looks. At last, she stepped aside and gestured Boudica into the house. Boudica turned for one last look at her husband, and the two exchanged a final wave. Martin watched the door close, and after checking once more to make sure no one was watching, hurried off to the Faceless Chapel.

  Jacques appeared quickly.

  “It’s Rafe,” Martin said by way of greeting, “he’s started moving.”

  “I know. I sent a little bird just a bit ago, but I had a feeling you might show up on your own.”

  Jacques led Martin down to their usual room and let Martin explain. Martin handed Jacques the lighter when he came to that part of the story, and Jacques idly flipped it open and closed, not lighting it or activating its power. When Martin finished, he arranged for one of the faceless boys to head over to the Alders and keep watch.

  “There’s something else you should know,” Jacques said finally. “It’s about Ioan.”

  “What about him?”

  “He was found dead yesterday evening.”

  Martin was shocked. He clearly wasn’t in the best of health, but it seemed impossible for his vitality to deteriorate that quickly since he had seen him.

  “What happened?” he asked, part of him already knowing the answer.

  “His wife found him with a cut on his arm. It wasn’t deep, nor did it seem to be poisoned or infected. The official cause of death was that his heart gave out. There’s no suspect at the moment, but you and I both know who the most likely person is.”

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  “Rafe,” Martin said the name like a curse word. He hadn’t known Ioan, not really, but he had seemed like a good person. Even more, he was Martin now, and a link to that past that couldn’t be learned from public records was an invaluable asset to his disguise. Rafe had taken that from him and was now threatening to take the rest.

  “Jacques, you mentioned Rafe operates out of the Ossuary Archways, right?”

  “That’s right. What do you plan on doing?”

  “In the morning, I plan on retrieving my pistol from Manton’s and then going in there to finish him.”

  “I’ve put a fair amount of time into you, and I’m not keen on the idea of you rushing off to your death.”

  “Jacques, there’s only one way he stops coming for me. I know my mission is at the dockyard, but I can’t do this unless Rafe is taken care of.”

  “I’m not trying to stop you, Martin. But I’m not going to let you go off unprepared. Manton doesn’t open until the afternoon, and you haven’t slept. Besides, you don’t know how to access the Ossuary anyway.” At this point, Jacques gestured to a roll of papers next to him. “Let’s plan it out, get you some rest, and then we’ll put this grudge to rest for good.”

  “Thank you, Jacques.”

  “Let’s start with this trinket.”

  Jacques had Martin demonstrate what he had learned from Oddscog. Jacques was truly a gifted teacher, and Martin rapidly improved under his tutelage. Blocks that seemed to exist no matter how he had tried to make the energy flow now seemed like little more than tiny bumps on the road. In just a short time, Martin felt like even if the two thugs ambushed him again, he could get the spell activated in time to catch them.

  However, Jacques was there to extinguish any overconfidence that might develop.

  “Remember that at the end of the day, this is just a tiny trinket. A shadow of an object left behind by a long-dead Cosmic. It might buy you a few seconds in a pinch, but you cannot plan on this to win you the day. Do you remember what I told you about Ioan’s death?”

  “He was found with a cut on his arm and died of heart failure.”

  “Did you think he survived all that he described to us and came away with a heart that weak?”

  “No. No, I don’t.”

  “So what do you think the cause was?”

  “Well, either whoever attacked him was truly that frightening, or… or that cut came from something Cosmic.”

  “Mmhmm. Since we left Ioan, I’ve had my birds looking into Rafe. He doesn’t seem to have any major cosmic backing, or backing from any noteworthy group, for that matter, but it does seem like he found an artifact of some kind. A dagger. Where that dagger came from or what exactly it can do, I’m not sure, but they say that the one who wields it hears the whispers of the dead. Let me caution you that those who hear such whispers are not long for their own sanity.”

  They spent a few more hours going over what was known of the Ossuary Archways and their discovered entrances. Jacques’ intelligence network had sniffed out that Rafe lived in a crumbling mortuary vault somewhere in the western curve of the oldest part of the Ossuary. Where exactly no one had lived to tell. After planning his approach and making sure Martin had memorized the known portions of the Archways, Jacques sent Martin to get some sleep.

  As he lay there, restless in the same bed he had been given when he first pulled himself from the river, Martin felt anger inside him. He had not been able to save his family. That loss had led him to this pact with the Faceless God. Now, he had something resembling a family in the form of his life with Boudica. Failing here would mean not only losing this pseudo-family but also failing his true family a second time by never getting his revenge.

  He gradually began to push the anger aside, focusing on his breathing.

  Elisia. Elisia.

  When the afternoon sun had risen and Manton’s was finally open, he still had not slept much.

  He and Jacques did not say much. After their late-night planning, not much remained to be said. Martin ate quickly, and Jacques assured him that Boudica was being watched and Rafe had not yet made any moves. Jacques placed a lantern on the table and helped refill his lighter.

  “Good luck, Martin,” Jacques said as Martin made to leave. “Take no chances with that dagger and remember our plans, and you have a chance of emerging from the Ossuary alive.”

  “Thank you, Jacques. I will be back. I will.”

  The two clasped hands. Although Jacques was his teacher and mentor, at the moment, they felt like true brothers. With that, Martin left the chapel and hurried to the military quarter.

  Manton’s had just opened, and Martin found George at the front, taking inventory when Martin arrived.

  “Afternoon, Martin. I didn’t expect you in so early.”

  “Sorry, George. I’m not here for a social visit or a lesson. I need my revolver.”

  George looked up from his checklist and looked at Martin closely. He made a soft hum upon recognizing the look in Martin’s eyes.

  “Not the box, I suppose, just the revolver. Do you have a holster for it?”

  “No. I’ll just carry it in my jacket.”

  “Wait here a moment. I’ll fetch one of my old ones.”

  George popped into the back and returned soon after, shuffling on his bad leg.

  “George. I might not be able to bring it back.”

  “If you can’t bring it back, that's just a testament to my poor teaching, and I’ll deserve the loss.”

  George showed him how to wear the holster and helped him adjust the straps so the revolver was barely noticeable under his coat. He briefly went over the trick to drawing from the holster quickly and the adjustments Martin needed to make to his aim.

  “Thank you, George.”

  “Good luck, Martin. Return in victory.”

  With a final wave goodbye, Martin made his way back into the military quarter and followed the directions Jacques had given him to one of the oldest sections of the quarter. Here, the buildings got older and shabbier as he got further away from the river. Eventually, he arrived at a disused funeral home. The building was falling apart amidst a field of graves equally crumbled, with the exception of a few that seemed to still have some living descendants to look after them.

  There were still a few hours of sunlight left. Martin found a place in the shadows to watch and wait. His thoughts turned to Boudica and to Elisia. He didn’t pray much these days, but he said one for Ioan.. For a moment, he thought of saying one for himself, but he held off. He had come too far to ask the Creator for mercy now, and in a few more hours, yet more blood was to be spilled at his hand.