Martin let himself sink gingerly into the bath. It was his day off, and Boudica was at work. He had allowed himself the rare luxury of sleeping in, and then, following Jacques' advice to keep to himself until the fallout from the Admiral's assassination blew over, decided to spend the day at home.

  With the light of a cool Alderbridge morning filtering through the cracks in the curtains, Martin had gone through the breathing exercises. With Aelar's recent correction still fresh in his mind, he could feel his body opening up to stretching in new directions, and his breath sinking deeper into a focused state. The exercises completed and his mind sharpened, he continued to practice with his Faceless Dagger, drawing it smoothly from the void in which it was kept, passing it quickly to his left hand, and allowing it to fade away again. He then repeated the process in reverse, going from his left hand to his right. Jacques and Aelar both possessed an ambidextrousness that gave them a huge element of unpredictability in combat. Martin wasn't yet able to reach that level, but he had added it to his ever-increasing list of skills he was pursuing.

  His morning training complete, Martin made his way to the bathroom to relieve himself and wash up. As he entered the bath, he let his mask slip, revealing the face underneath. He held a small hand mirror up, basking in the horrid visage that stared back at him. His skin was wrinkled and desiccated, and utterly hairless. His nose was on the smaller side, compounded by the fact that the tip and right side were curled inward slightly as if they had gotten too close to a flame.

  He let his power flow through his veins and watched as the nose expanded, taking on the now familiar pockmarked form belonging to that of Martin. Dark brown hair grew out of previously empty follicles and framed a face that, although clearly aged and worn, still retained glimmers of the young man who had first set out to sea with her Majesty's Navy.

  Satisfied with his appearance, the Faceless Man let it lapse again, switching between his scarred true face and his assumed identity. He took a small measure of pride in the fact that the transformation no longer required the pain and nightmares that had accompanied his first time. His eyes unwittingly flickered to the corners of the ceiling, fearing they might find another shadow ready to haunt him. The room was mercifully vacant, and he resumed his exercise.

  As he returned once more to Martin's face, he felt a small sense of emptiness. He paused for a moment and let his senses probe the space he was feeling. Pushing slightly, he could feel it expand. Could it be? Jacques had told him he might soon be able to accommodate another disguise. This might be the first indication that he was ready.

  Before he could dwell on these thoughts, however, a bell rang out down the street. It was soon accompanied by another, and then another. For a moment, the whole of Alderbridge was united by the discordant ringing of bells--the funeral of Admiral Rooke had begun. Martin soaked a bit longer before pulling himself from the now lukewarm water. The bells drew him not, and he resolved himself to stay in for the day, his only motivation for the afternoon a bit of food and a novel he had checked out from the library.

  The funeral passed without incident, and although the papers continued to publish stories daily regarding the investigation, after weeks with no promising leads, the fervor around the case was beginning to die down. Martin had seen Aelar several times since then. His condition had improved, and he was back to dancing circles around Martin during their spars. The assassination wasn’t spoken of again, but Aelar and Jacques both made subtle hints that Aelar would need to return to the continent soon.

  The soldiers had been gradually called back, and although there were still a couple of sailors posted at Crane’s Landing, they had little expectation of finding anything and could mostly be found playing dice or staring off into the harbor, giving only the most cursory look at anyone entering the dockyard. Martin decided that this gradual return to apathy meant it was safe to finally visit the Alderbridge Cathedral.

  That day, in place of their regular reading lesson, Martin and Will met at the Park of the Daughter and together made their way across town to the cathedral, stopping only to buy some fresh bread covered in honey, Martin’s treat.

  They were finishing the still-warm loaves as the cathedral came into view. They had both seen it before, but the size and majesty seemed freshly imposed on them now that they had come here for a purpose. The cathedral was opened for public mass, but neither had any inclination to come across town for the service—Will never attended service himself anyway, and Martin was a regular at Vicar Corvus’ parish church. This would be both of their first times to actually enter into the holy center of the empire.

  Will finished his bread and licked his fingers clean. “Well, let’s find ourselves an architect.”

  They entered through the west entrance, walking under an elaborate facade depicting the Daughter, the original five angels, the ancestors of the current five great families of the world, and a figure whose head had been meticulously destroyed, the Betrayer.

  Inside, they found a young usher loitering about and asked him for directions to the cathedral historian. The boy looked mildly annoyed at having been asked to work, but forced a smile on his face and led the two out of the main cathedral and into the cloisters. Several gardeners were at work in the quadrangle, but the boy kept moving, not giving the visitors a chance to take in the beauty of the garden, nor the elaborate carvings and glasswork of the cloister halls. They passed quickly into the Chapter house and towards a corner office. A simple plaque on the door read Sister Honora Vale, Alderbridge Cathedral Archivist-Historian. The usher gave a quick look back at Will and Martin before knocking on the door.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Come in,” came a friendly voice.

  The usher opened the door and gave a perfunctory bow. “My apologies for disturbing you, sister. These… gentlemen would like a moment of your time to ask about the cathedral.”

  “Well, please show them in.”

  The boy took a step back to make space and, with a lazy gesture, ushered them into the tiny office. He waited just long enough to make sure they were both in the room before closing the door behind them. Sister Honora stood behind a desk piled high with documents. The rest of the room was similarly messy, with bookshelves, tables, and chairs overflowing with books, scrolls, and loose papers. The sister was neatly dressed in the soft blue-grey robes of the Cathedral’s nuns, and she looked at the pair of visitors through a pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses. Her hair was neatly tied back with just a bit of dark brown streaked with silver visible under her habit. She wore no adornment other than a single medallion showing her position as a historian in the Church of the True God.

  Sister Honora smiled and welcomed them with a voice that Martin imagined would be particularly well-suited for lifting the dust off old stories and giving breath to the ancient stones of the Cathedral. She quickly helped Will clean some books off one of the chairs and bid them to sit down.

  “What can I do to aid two seekers of truth?” she asked once they were comfortable.

  “Thank you for making time for us, sister.” Martin began, quickly introducing themselves. “You see, my nephew Will here has dreams of being an architect one day, and he’s quite taken with the beauty and grandeur of the cathedral. He’s taken the architect of the cathedral to be something of his personal hero to tell you the truth, and we’ve come here today to find out a bit more about him.”

  Martin noticed the smile on Sister Honora’s face flicker slightly when he brought up the architect, but she quickly flashed it even brighter as she turned to Will. “What a wonderful dream. I’m sure with the Creator’s blessing, you’ll make a wonderful architect someday. However, I’m afraid I can’t be quite as helpful as I’d like. As to who the architect of the cathedral is, I just don’t know.”

  “You don’t know,” Will exclaimed, his eyes widening in shock.

  “I’m afraid no one knows, “ Sister Honora replied, “and that’s by design.” Seeing the look of disbelief on her visitor’s faces, she quickly explained. “You see, the original architect of the cathedral was an incredibly devout man, who believed in seeking the glory of the True Creator, rather than his own personal glory. He asked that his name be kept obscure to keep the focus away from him.”

  “I see,” was Martin’s response. He leaned back and glanced over at Will, seeing the tinge of disappointment on his face. Sister Honora spotted it as well and spoke up again to try to lighten Will’s spirits.

  “It was his request, and we should be happy it was honored, no? And not knowing his name does nothing to diminish the great achievements of him and his team, creating a masterwork of stone and glass that still fills our hearts with awe all these years later.”

  “That’s true, sister,” Martin said. “My apologies for our reactions, as I said, my nephew’s admiration has developed almost into hero worship, but perhaps there’s a lesson in here for us. We shouldn’t let our own pride and desires get in the way of the glory or the True Creator. Isn’t that right, Will?”

  “Yes, uncle.” Will dutifully responded, still sulking slightly.

  “How wonderful you can see a lesson even from disappointment.” Sister Honora said, clapping her hands together. “The architect requested to remain anonymous, but there was still a small plaque erected in honor of his efforts in the chapel. How about I show you that and give you a tour of the cathedral while we’re at it?”

  Will’s face lit right back up, “Could you?”

  “Are you sure, sister?” Martin said more reasonably, “I wouldn’t want to take you away from your work.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, these documents have sat here for years; a few more hours won’t hurt.”

  Martin and Will thanked the sister profusely as she led them out of the office and back into the cloisters. She started the tour right away, walking them through what they were seeing with a practiced tone. Martin’s prediction was right. Sister Honora was a masterful storyteller, and through her, the cathedral came alive with anecdotes and stories that made the two feel like they had been there for the construction.

  As they entered the cathedral proper, they saw the same usher from before straighten himself up and greet them with a bow before scurrying away on some task. Sister Honora paid him no mind and directed them to the buttresses, giving them the details on their construction and how they managed the weight of the heavy stone, admonishing Will to keep studying his mathematics so he could design his own someday.

  They made their way leisurely through the crossing, pausing to enter the south transept for a quick ghost story before continuing to one of the smaller chapels radiating out of the ambulatory. The largest chapel was the Daughter Chapel at the farthest end of the building. The Daughter was an important church figure the world over, but she was particularly beloved and worshipped here in the Empire, and thus she was given top billing in the cathedral. However, the Alderbridge Cathedral had numerous other chapels dedicated to other key figures in the ecclesiastical history of the empire. This particular chapel was focused on those who had made exceptional contributions in the arts and sciences.

  “Here we arrive,” Sister Honora said with a flourish, “Despite designing the greatest cathedral the world had ever seen, this is all the architect would consent to have in his honor. Truly an example of genius and humility for us all.”

  There on the wall was a simple bronze plaque that read.

  Dedicated to the original architect and his team, who strove endlessly to push man to greater heights, so that we may better show the glory of the True Creator. May we toil in their example.

  Will, playing the role of a devotee of the original architect, kept a star-struck look on his face and continued to stare at the plaque. While Martin, playing the role of an uncle indulging his son, allowed himself to wander around the chapel, taking in the various statues and plaques of great figures, and reading the tombstones on the floor of those interred in the church.

  He was about to thank Sister Honora for her time and head out when a particular statue caught his eye. It was a statue of a man draped in a Bishop’s robes. He was slim, but had a rather large head. His arm was raised with a finger up, as if the sculptor had caught him in the act of discovery. At the base of the statue was a simple engraving— Bishop Robert Warren.