Martin made it home from the Black Dog earlier and in better condition than he had expected, and found Boudica scratching away at a piece of paper when he arrived. Her upper lip was curled up, and he could see the tips of her bottom row of teeth pressed against her lip as she concentrated on her handwriting. Boudica was literate; her parents had taken great pains to ensure she was, but she seldom had cause to write other than a few notes for her orders and shopping lists. Her brother Connach had tended to be more literary, surprisingly so for a farmer, and writing to him was one of the few times she needed to force herself to care about her writing.

  “Love, how do you spell caution?” She said by way of greeting.

  “Is that a warning for me, or for your brother?” Martin replied before spelling it out for her.

  “Thank you.”

  Martin hung up his jacket and discreetly returned the thumbtack to its place in the bedpost, relieved he hadn't needed to make use of it. A pot of stew with some leftover meat from the night before bubbled softly on the stove. Martin helped himself to a small spoon of the broth and added a touch more salt. He took over minding the stew for Boudica, allowing her to concentrate on her writing, speaking only when asked to spell out a word or give his feedback on her phrasing. At last, she signed her name and put the pen down.

  “Is the stew ready? I’m starving.”

  “Just about,” Martin said. “Do we still have any bread?”

  “There’s half a loaf in the pantry. I’ll get it.”

  Boudica stood up and stretched, rubbing her hand as she walked over to the kitchen area. Martin wordlessly changed with her, walking over to the desk to pick up her letter. What he found was a far cry from the letters of Bishop Warren he had spent the last few nights poring over. There were a few places she had tried to add in missing letters or crossed out a word to try again, and a few misspellings that had completely escaped her notice. However, despite the errors, and in stark contrast to Warren’s letters, the love and concern Boudica had for her brother poured off the page. Martin felt a sadness sink into him as he read the letter. It was a sadness both that Boudica found herself in this position, but also that he, too, had once had a wife who would have had the same love for him as Boudica did for her brother. If he had really been unnamed by the Church, then any letter like this would have been burned by the time his body left the river.

  “Does that read okay?” Boudica asked, placing the first bowl of stew and loaf of bread on the table.

  “Yeah. I wish it were written under happier circumstances, but you’re quite the writer when you want to be. If you started writing full-time in the evenings, I bet you could make a fortune. Or at least I wouldn’t have to save money to afford a library subscription.”

  “Don’t tease me, love. I’m not in the mood.”

  “It was mostly sincere, I assure you.”

  The two bantered slightly over dinner, the letter left open on the table. Boudica's lips would occasionally move silently as she reread a line or phrase. After the dishes had been washed, Martin helped her seal it up and write the address on the envelope, and Boudica put it with her things to drop off on the way to work in the morning. If things were like they had been in the past, it would arrive in Brannloch within a couple of weeks. If the town was actually under Church Inquisition, however, the letter may never reach it. Neither of them wanted to dwell on that possibility, and instead they both retired to their own pastimes—Martin to his book and Boudica to her sewing.

  Although he pretended to be engrossed in the history of Alderbridge, Martin’s thoughts were instead back on Seraphine’s fortune. Tomorrow, he was meeting Will, and could take that step forward in pursuing the mysterious library from the Cathedral Architect's letter. As for the dockyard, he figured it was time to press Victor Harrow some more.

  He left a bit earlier than usual the next morning and walked faster than he would have otherwise to make some time to speak with the boss. Harrow wasn't standing at the entrance as usual. A quick word with one of the enforcers revealed Harrow was in his office, buried in paperwork from a missing order. The enforcer advised Martin not to bother him. advice Martin decided to ignore.

  Harrow was indeed right where the enforcer said, hunched over his desk, muttering to himself as he read through a stack of letters. Martin knocked once at the door.

  "Wha'd'you want?" Harrow growled, looking up. Spotting Martin, his face softened slightly, but the stress was apparent. Martin hesitated a moment, the confidence and urgency given by Seraphine's prophecy suddenly weakened.

  "You alright?" Martin asked instead.

  Harrow let out a laugh. "Do I have even the dockers worried about me now?" He waved Martin towards a chair in front of his desk. "It's nothing. An order from Brannloch never arrived, and the customer is threatening legal action. Nothing I haven't dealt with before. What brings you in this morning?"

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  Martin's eyes raised slightly at the mention of his wife's hometown. Since the meteor fell, fewer people were willing to have anything to do with the place. He wondered what could have been sent from the town that warranted such a strong reaction from someone. He pushed the thought aside to focus on why he had risked disturbing the supervisor.

  "Well, sorry to bother you when you're in the midst of something, but I was hoping to revisit our last conversation about my future at the Landing."

  Harrow gave a hum of understanding and leaned back in his chair. He paused in thought a moment before speaking.

  “Listen, Martin. You’ve made a good effort, and as a result, Crane has his eye on you. But years and years can’t be rewritten in a few months. A few months is enough to show your potential, but until Crane sees you taking on a leadership role to begin with, he’s not going to feel comfortable promoting you to a leadership position.”

  So he wouldn’t promote him to leadership until he was already working outside of his job description? Martin recognized business speak when he heard it, but he held his tongue. The real Martin’s temper was something he seldom struggled with these days, but moments like this, he did need to keep a close eye on it.

  “So what do you recommend I do to start showing those leadership qualities?”

  “Well, that’s up to you. For starters, there are two ships from Saltwick arriving today. Get your team to unload one of them faster and with less spillage than the other.”

  “Who’s unloading the other?”

  “John Smith and his team. Can you beat them?”

  “John’s a tosser. Of course I can.”

  “Let’s see it then.” Harrow glanced at the clock on the wall. “Port’s open in twenty minutes. Better get ready.”

  Martin gave Harrow a quick word of thanks and left to find his team. Sly was leaning on a crate, having a morning smoke. He spotted Martin leaving Harrow’s office and waved him over.

  “Morning, Martin.” He said by way of greeting. “What brings you to Harrow first thing in the morning?”

  Martin hesitated a moment before replying. “A chat about my future.”

  Sly raised an eyebrow as he exhaled a mouth of smoke.

  “Thinking about leaving the landing? I hope you’ll cut us in if you’ve found something more lucrative.”

  “You know I would, but it’s not that. I told him I was looking for a promotion.”

  Sly let out a chuckle that turned into a cough as he choked on some of the smoke he had exhaled. Martin waited for the coughs to subside but made no effort to help him.

  “Well, well, well. Reining in the drinking I could get behind, and controlling the temper is a boon to us all, but going in for management, that almost seems a step too far. What have you done to the Martin I know and love?”

  “He’s still here, Sly. The anger’s still there, too, if you want to test it. But not management, I was hoping to become an enforcer.”

  “Well, the anger would certainly help with that. Been on the receiving end of a few enforcers’ ire myself. But what brought that on?”

  “Can’t do this forever. Enforcer pays better and is easier on the back.”

  “I suppose it is.” Sly took a final drag of his cigarette and tossed it into the river. “Well, I can’t say I fully understand your reasons, but I’ll support you. What line of business nonsense did he feed you?”

  “I’ve got to show leadership before I can become a leader.”

  “Gotta work like you’ve been promoted until you’ve been promoted, and then work harder still, eh?”

  “Something like that. His first suggestion was maximizing profits. He told me I could start by unloading the Saltwick vessel faster than John Smith and his team.”

  “Oh, did he now? John's a tosser, but he and his team are pretty good. How do you plan on motivating us to outwork him?”

  “First rounds on me?”

  Sly laughed. “Well, I’m sold. Let’s round up Dillion and Monika and get started.”

  The others were mercifully easy to motivate as well, although Monika bargained for an additional favor to be named later. They unloaded their ship a whole hour faster than John Smith’s team. John and Martin had locked eyes at one point. John had given him a slightly confused look at his pace, to which Martin responded with an exaggerated bow. Martin doubted Harrow had said anything to John at all, but it still gave him a slight satisfaction to be faster than one of the most popular dockers in Crane’s Landing, particularly one everyone said had the makings of a manager or politician.

  He didn’t have a chance to speak to Harrow again that day, but he noticed him watching from one of the rafters near the end of the unloading. Harrow glanced over at the ship in front of John’s station and looked back to give Martin a nod. He didn’t linger but continued on his way back to the main building. If Martin was spoken of at all when he was in front of Harrow, he couldn’t begin to guess. One thing he was sure of, though, was that he would need to find a more permanent solution to motivating his team than just buying drinks if his finances were to hold until a promotion materialized.

  Having finished earlier than expected, they were able to do a bit of a clean-up before being let out early. Although he had an appointment with Will, with the time saved, he was still able to front his team one round at a local pub before making his excuses and hurrying off to the Park of the Daughter, where he would find out what Will had uncovered and share his own gains from his research into Bishop Warren.

  As they arrived at the bar, Moe gave them a friendly wave. Sitting in his usual seat was the Worm. He didn't even seem to notice the four of them walk in and remained focused on his drink. Martin, as promised, ordered the first round. He glanced slightly at the Worm as Moe poured the beer, but he was studiously ignored. Martin paid and gathered the four glasses in his hands. Balancing carefully, he turned away from the bar and made his way to the back table where his team was waiting. He had made it halfway across the room when his eye caught on the table next to theirs, where three men were sitting. Looking directly at him was a man with a receding hairline and a head thrust unnaturally forward. From scared lips hung a hand-rolled cigarette.