Despite the enthusiasm of the day before, the next day saw Martin working late. A shipment of timber had arrived behind schedule, and Harrow was insistent that Martin and his team stay late to get everything unloaded and sent off before the end of the day. The timber was destined for a new church being constructed in the royal ward. Connections were everything to Bartholomew Crane. If wringing a few more hours of labor meant he could leave a slightly more favorable impression with the church and the royal family, then he was all for it.

  Needless to say, by the time Martin and his team were finished with their extended shift, he was too tired for even a drink, let alone crawling through the archives. The next night was one of his regular sessions with Jacques, and he had promised Boudica he would be home the following night to help clean the chimney, so it wasn’t until several days later that he finally found himself back at the library.

  As luck would have it, the librarian who had tipped him off about Sister Honora was sitting at the returns desk. She was absentmindedly twirling her auburn hair as she looked over a ledger, but looked up and smiled at him as he approached.

  “Good evening, sir. Are you here to return a book?”

  “Ah, no I’m not. I’m not sure you remember, but I was in here last week researching Alderbridge Cathedral.”

  “Yes, I remember. How is your research going?”

  “Well, thank you. I just wanted to say thank you for your advice. I went to visit the Cathedral and met with Sister Honora, the cathedral historian. She was most enlightening.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that. I’m always happy to help someone in search of knowledge.”

  “Right, miss—“

  “Oh, please just call me Virginia.”

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Virginia. Please call me Martin.”

  “Likewise, Martin.” As if suddenly remembering where she was, she took a quick look around to see if any patrons or librarians were watching. “So what can I help you with today, Martin?”

  “I’m actually changing tacks a bit. The good sister introduced me to Bishop Robert Warren, the second Bishop of the Alderbridge Cathedral. I heard he was a native of Alderbridge, and I’d love to find out more about his upbringing and life before becoming Bishop.”

  “I see. Bishop Warren was quite the prolific writer, and we have a large number of his works. I’m not sure if any of them touch upon his childhood, but I can at least show you where they are.”

  “I would greatly appreciate it, Virginia,” Martin said with a smile.

  Virginia put a sign up on the desk and quickly showed Martin to a collection of church writings on the third floor. Prolific was almost an understatement as just Warren’s religious writings filled nearly a whole shelf. When factoring in his scientific writings as well as the vast numbers of commentaries on his writings by various ecclesiastical and scholarly figures, Warren was perhaps one of the best represented writers in the whole of the Imperial Library collection.

  The fervor that Warren had when speaking of matters of heresy was palpable. Whether it was feigned to ensure his position or came from a genuine change of heart, Martin couldn’t say, but he approached everything Warren wrote with a heavy sense of suspicion.

  Virginia was sitting with another librarian as Martin left. They were giggling and whispering softly to each other, seemingly ignorant of the old man hunched over an old bible, shooting them angry looks whenever their giggles got above a whisper. Martin gave a nod and a wave to Virginia as he left. He wasn’t sure, but he had a feeling he heard the librarian with Virginia whisper, “he’s a bit old for you, but he’s kind of cute.”

  Martin returned the next few nights, poring over ever more obscure tomes, looking to find anything that could give him a reference point for where the architect might have put his secret library. Finally, in a collection of letters, he found what he was looking for.

  “When I was a boy in the Ashfolds, there were few trees to be found. Only one nearby was suitable for a boy of my age to climb. It was growing in a shuttered factory near the home of a childhood friend of mine. He once told me he wanted to build a house up inside it.”

  This particular volume wasn’t available to be borrowed, so Martin quickly acquired a pen and paper from downstairs and began to copy the letter by hand. In his excitement, he made several mistakes and needed to calm himself down before continuing.

  Elisia. Elisia.

  This could be a step toward the power I need to avenge you.

  He calmed himself down and finished copying the rest of the letter without incident, rereading it twice to verify he had copied it correctly and that it really said what he hoped it did. Neatly folding the letter and sticking it into his jacket pocket, Martin tidied up the area, returning the book to its shelf and the writing utensils to the front desk. He gave his usual thanks to the librarians—Virginia was off that day—and hurried out into the night. Unlike the previous night in which he had stayed until closing, he had found this letter pretty quickly into a research session and had left immediately upon its discovery. As a result, instead of the dark night he had grown accustomed to, he found himself under the faint remains of the orange hue of dusk as it lingered for its final few moments over Alderbridge.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  As the fresh air and remains of the day hit him, Martin began to feel a bit embarrassed. Even with the newfound clue, he had nowhere to go. It gave him a city ward to start in, but wards in Alderbridge were huge and likely had several pumping stations and entrances to the sewers. Even if Will had been able to procure an accurate map, Martin had no idea where Will could be found at this time of night. A sheepish thought emerged that the next page of that book could have held an even more valuable clue, but fighting his indecision, he decided to hold back on returning to the library and to instead enjoy the evening air for a walk home, and to return early to Boudica.

  He thrust his hands in his pockets and began to take the scenic route back home, planning to enjoy the evening along the waterfront during his walk. His mind began to wander over the words in the letter. If Robert and the architect were truly childhood friends, how much must he have feared damnation to sell him out? Or if it wasn’t fear, what level of greed could turn a man like that? Martin wondered, not for the first time, if whatever secrets the architect had buried in his library had been too tempting for Warren, and he had long ago raided the place up to the roof and rafters.

  The streets were relatively empty tonight, and Martin was left alone with his thoughts for most of the way home. It was on this solitary walk that a figure suddenly emerged in front of him, as if conjured from the shadows cast by the remaining sunlight.

  Martin instinctively reached for something to defend himself, his Faceless dagger just about to materialize, but then he paused, peering more closely at the man in front of him. He was a stranger, his curly hair and auburn eyes completely unfamiliar to Martin, and yet something in the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his head was uncannily familiar. As realization dawned, Martin’s tensions eased slightly.

  “Aelar?” he ventured, his voice tinged with doubt.

  The man’s lips curled into a smile. “Worst Faceless my arse. You’ve got a knack for this sort of thing, boy.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that. It wouldn’t hurt to let Jacques know a few more times, though.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to tell him that yourself,” Aelar replied, adjusting the heavy rucksack he had slung over his shoulder.

  “Leaving us, are you?”

  “I’m afraid so. Things have quieted down enough that I can escape as a completely unrelated man with little fear of church checkpoints. Besides, being cooped up for so long is bad for a man. It’ll be good to be back on the road doing our lord’s work.”

  “Have you received a new mission?”

  “Hmm,” Aelar grunted noncommittally. “There are some developments on the continent that need to be addressed. Who better to address them than yours truly?”

  “I suppose not.” Martin had not yet completely moved past his misgivings from Aelar’s last mission and idly wondered whose head was on the chopping block this time.

  “Ah, don’t look at me like that. I’m not just a wandering assassin. I’ve got important work ahead of me.”

  “Sorry. I don’t doubt it.” Martin forced a smile to his face. Will you come back to Alderbridge again?”

  “I’ll go wherever our lord guides me, but I have little doubt we’ll meet again. Listen, I never properly rewarded you for your help with Seraphine.”

  “Help? As I recall, I drank a few beers and got lost in a hallucination. Does that qualify as help?”

  “Well, then, consider it hazard pay. I’ve left a scroll at the Faceless Chapel. It’s the details for the next sequence of the breathing technique. It’s a little early for you to start, so don’t rush into it, but I’d say once you can hold position five for about thirty seconds, you’ll know you’re ready.”

  “Thank you, Aelar. I hope I’ll be ready for sequence three by the time we next meet.”

  “Somehow I wouldn’t doubt it.” Aelar paused for a moment, “Martin, there’s a favor I’d like to ask.”

  “Of course, what can I do?”

  Aelar produced a letter from inside his jacket. It was closed with a wax seal with a roughly carved letter A. “I’d like you to bring this to Seraphine.”

  “Aelar…” Martin began. Aelar assumed he was about to refuse and began to open his mouth to persuade him, but before he could, Martin continued, “All that fancy knife work and this is your penmanship? The orphan I’m teaching to read could manage a better A than this.”

  Aelar let out a laugh. “I’m going to miss our sparring sessions,”

  “How can I get this to her? Same spot at the Black Dog?”

  “That’s right. You shouldn’t have the same issues as before, but maybe bring that tack just in case.”

  “I wouldn’t step in that part of town without it.”

  Martin quickly hid the letter in his jacket, and the two embraced quickly.

  “Take care, brother,” Aelar said. “Our lord watch over you.”

  “Safe travels, Aelar.”

  Without another word, Aelar turned around and walked off into the evening. Although there was no one around, Martin quickly lost sight of him. Aelar had told him they were sure to meet again. With Aelar’s abilities, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it would be when he least expected it. Martin absentmindedly patted the letter in his jacket, hoping Boudica wouldn’t have any cause to look inside before he had a chance to deliver it. He continued on his way home, his mind lost in stories of assassins, architects, bishops, and behemoths.