In the aftermath of Boudica's confession, Martin had stayed home most nights, temporarily halting his searches in the library, stopping by only to exchange a book once he had finished. He had taken to renting novels, occasionally reading passages to Boudica. Her father had taught her to read, but she had never much taken to it.

  Martin's reading aloud as she worked on her sewing was the first bonding activity the two had shared, at least since the Faceless Man had become Martin, and he was skeptical the original Martin had done anything like this before. Boudica had commented once about the surprising strength in his reading ability, but had otherwise kept quiet. The Faceless Man could see the tension in her shoulders release slightly, and the anger that had been building over the past few weeks slowly found release. Boudica still looked frequently at the picture of her sister, Vivian, and Martin also found himself drawn to it more than he had been previously.

  Jacques, too, had been occupied with whatever mission Aelar had come to Alderbridge for, and their training sessions were temporarily halted. Finally, driven nearly to boredom and confident Boudica would be fine without for a night, Martin had agreed to one of Sly's invitations to go out to their usual bar for a round of drinks and cards. For once, Martin's luck was pretty good, and he was currently up several pennies.

  The door to the bar suddenly slammed open. Everyone paused to see Nathan Gascoigne stumble in, and assuming he was drunk as usual, calmly returned to their drinks.

  Nathan scanned the room and spotted Martin and Monika, hurrying over to them.

  “Evening, Nate,” Martin said, raising his glass.

  “You’ve got to help me.”

  The panic in Gascoigne’s voice was palpable. He reached into his jacket as Monika asked, “What’s wrong?” He produced a piece of folded paper that he thrust down on the table, his hands shaking.

  “Dillion, get Nate a drink, won’t you?” Martin said as he picked up the paper and unfolded it so Monika and Sly could read as well. It was a letter written in an unconfident hand, filled with mistakes, but the contents were clear.

  Father,

  Since muther has died, I have done me best to live with you. I have tried to deal with the drinking. I have tried to deal with the forgetfulness. I have even tried to deal with the constant nagging. But I cannot deal any longer.

  I have left to join Brendon in the Brotherhood. Do not try and find me.

  Live well, for muther at least if not for yourself. We shall not meet again.

  Margaret

  Dillion returned with the beer and handed it over to Gascoigne, who slowly sank into a chair and began to drink. Martin handed Dillion the letter and exchanged looks with Sly and Monika.

  Monika took the lead. “Gee, I’m so sorry to see that, Nate. When I spoke to her last, she seemed quite enamored with that Brendon. Maybe it’s for the best that she's with her beloved.”

  Sly soon followed up. “That’s right, Natey. I didn’t speak to the girl myself, but when I saw her speaking to Monika across the room, you could see her positively glowing when the subject came up. I know it’s hard as a parent, but you’ve got to yield to matters of the heart after all.”

  “You don’t understand. You don’t know Brendon.” Gascoigne slammed his half-finished glass down, spilling most of the remaining beer onto the table. “He and the whole brotherhood are nothing but a lot of thieves, spreading their filth all over the shop.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dillion interjected, “what actually is the Brotherhood?”

  Martin glanced at Sly for confirmation.

  “Well, they have their fingers in a few less-than-legal enterprises, but who doesn’t these days. By and large, they’re seemingly just a youth organization. They’ve got a couple of lodges across the city that take in youths and help them find gainful employment.”

  “See, Nate. They’ve got some bad apples, so to speak, but overall it’s a good organization.”

  “I’ve seen him, I have. Late at night while on me rounds. Brendon is out there, committing petty thievery, mischief, and the lot. I won’t have my Madge associating with that sort. Oh, Madge, why would you do this to me? I gave her everything I could. Sure, things haven’t been the smoothest since her mom passed, but I’ve always tried my best.”

  “You can’t keep 'em forever, Nate,” Martin said. “You did your best for her, I have no doubt, and I saw firsthand that she’s growing up to be a fine young woman. You’ve got to trust her to follow her heart.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “That’s right,” Monika followed. “Give her some time. She’ll realize how much you meant to her, and she’ll come back, no doubt.”

  “Ah, you’re awfully sympathetic. Too much so perhaps, but I can’t trust me little pearl to this. I’ve got to find her and get her back from this lot of miscreants.”

  “I’m not sure finding her now will—“

  “I can’t wait. Every day I wait is another day she slips further into their clutches. Say you’ll help me find her?”

  Sly cleared his throat. “We’re not exactly in that line of work, Nate. This is more a matter for—“

  “The police? Don’t make me laugh. That unsympathetic lot of slime took one look at the letter and told me I was on my own. And I don’t have the money for a private detective.”

  A silence hung over the group.

  “Martin, what do you say? Can you find my little girl?” Gascoigne pleaded.

  Another lost girl. There was something about this city that seemed to swallow people up. And with his own Elisia taken too soon, the Faceless Man found it hard to ignore. Jacques would no doubt lecture him if he agreed to yet another request to help.

  “Alright. I’ll do my best,” he finally said.

  “Ah, Creator’s blessings be upon you, Martin. You’re a good chap, you are.”

  “Well, good on you, Martin,” Sly said, “but where do you start?”

  “Where do we start, you mean?” Monika butted in before Martin could reply.

  Sly glared at her a moment before folding, “Fine. Where do we start?”

  “Do you know anyone in the brotherhood?” Martin asked.

  “Not personally, but I can ask around.”

  “Please do so. I have a few people I can reach out to as well. Monika, Dillion, go with Nate and start asking around for anyone who might have seen Margaret or Bredon.”

  Monika and Dillion nodded their agreement and left with Nate, who followed behind them diligently, muttering his thanks. Martin held back a moment, waiting for Sly, who nursed the last of his beer.

  “Martin, she doesn’t want to be found. You’ve been around more than those other two. You know just as well as I do that these cases usually don’t have a happy ending.”

  “I know, Sly. I know.” Martin finished the last of his own beer. His mind went back to Boudica’s tears over her sister. He thought of his own tears over his wife and daughter. He even thought of the child that the real Martin and Boudica could never have. “But I’ve got to try.”

  Sly let out a laugh.

  “Quite the pep talk. You’re a good man, Martin. Real sympathetic and all that. But if you have your heart set on it, I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  “Cheers, Sly.”

  Sly left to head back toward the dockyards and his contacts there. Martin left shortly after, his feet walking the now familiar streets of Alderbridge towards the Chapel of the Faceless God. A faceless boy was waiting in the lobby and asked him to wait while he fetched Jacques. As usual, he gazed at his true visage in one of the mirrors.

  He couldn’t be sure, but the lines and scars on his face seemed even deeper and more horrific than the last time he looked. He thought again of the powers he still did not fully understand. Did he still age normally? Did he still age at all? Or could he perhaps be aging like the mayfly, with little time left to achieve but a single task and then be swept away like so many others in the rapid cycle of eternity.

  “Have you thought of having a portrait done?” a familiar voice called out from the entrance to the interior of the Chapel.

  “How come I never see you in front of one of these?”

  “I’ve long since forgotten what I looked like. I know only what I am now, my friend.”

  The Faceless Man turned from the mirror to look at Jacques.

  “I hear you’ve been looking for me. Come, Martin. As luck would have it, I’ve just made a pot of tea.”

  “I don’t have too much time,” Martin said as he followed Jacques through the secret door and down to one of the usual rooms.

  “Are we under attack?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then there’s time for a cup of tea.”

  Martin was used to this routine as well and did his best to sit still as Jacques went through the rituals of preparing a cup of tea. Only once the hot tea was in a cup in front of him was he permitted to explain why he had come.

  Jacques listened silently as he sipped his tea.

  “Well, you’ve matured a bit, seeing as you sat through my whole tea display without uttering a word, but are you really so young that you think you’ll find a lost girl in a day in one of the largest cities on the planet?”

  “Well, no, but I’d like to at least get an idea where to look. Do we have anyone in the brotherhood?”

  “It’s a youth organization. It’s not exactly a prime target for strategic intelligence, but yes, I have a few little birds among their ranks.”

  “Could you please see if any of them know where Margaret ran off to?”

  Jacques slowly sipped the last of his tea.

  “I’ve warned you about this before, Martin. If you keep sticking your nose in others' affairs like this, sooner or later the door will close on it.”

  “I know, but if I wasn’t able to save my daughter, perhaps I can save his.”

  “Are you sure she needs saving?”

  “I won’t know that until we find her.”

  “Is that what the real Martin would do?”

  “The real Martin would be stuck at the bottom of a bottle. You said I’m the one who needs to find my own path and own way to bring the parts together.”

  “So you have been listening. Alright, you’ve made your case. I’ll see what my birds know about this Margaret, but remember, our flock does not exist for personal benefit, and there is always a cost for that which is borrowed.”

  More than any of Sly’s or Jacques’ warnings about the risks of pursuing Margaret Gascoigne, that reminder sent a chill running through Martin. He had quite the debt already to the Faceless God, and he could only imagine the payment would be steep. He could only hope he could find the answers he sought before the debt came due.