A few days later, Martin was in the basement of the Chapel of the Faceless God. His body moved in slow, controlled movements as his breathing flowed in and out. Following their trip to the Black Dog, Aelar had stuck around long enough to teach him the first sequence of the breathing exercises Martin had seen him perform the other night before disappearing to continue his mission. Although the first sequence was far simpler than the higher sequence he had seen Aelar perform, it was already starting to show some effects on Martin’s body and spirit. As he finished his third run through the sequence, he let himself fold into a seated position.

  After taking a moment to review his previous attempts and additional feedback he had received from Jacques, he stretched out his arm. His fingers spread wide, and with a gentle motion, he brought them together into a fist. He expelled a short burst of air through his nostrils before spreading his fingers again for another attempt. Three more times he attempted this before finally his fingers closed not on empty air, but on his Faceless dagger. A faint smile came to his lips. He had grown proficient at drawing the blade, or so he had thought, but his experience in the web of the Weaver God revealed to him how imprecise his draw still was. He had still been relying on a large grasping motion combined with intense focus beforehand to draw the dagger reliably. This was the first step to drawing it more stealthily, and with practice, it could become effortless.

  His reverie was broken by the sound of clapping. He opened his eyes to see Jacques standing at the doorway, a scrunched piece of paper in his hand.

  “Not bad progress for just a few days of practice. Perhaps there’s hope for you yet.”

  “I won’t rest until I’m demonstrably not the worst you’ve ever trained.”

  “I hope you cope well with the lack of sleep. I’ve brought you something.”

  “Oh?”

  Martin rose from the floor, returning his Faceless dagger to wherever it was kept when not in use. He took the paper from Jacques and unfolded it to see an address written on it.

  “This is on the north side of the docks, no?”

  “That it is. The boy you asked me about, Brendon, is currently living there with a few members of the Brotherhood and his girlfriend, the decamped Margaret.”

  “Your man found him?”

  “Took him long enough, but it was his first job of this sort, I suppose. Brendon and his boys are mixed up in some petty protection racket in that part of town. Rather than the approach most gangs take in selling protection from themselves, they naively intend to sell protection from other gangs. Martin, there’s nothing Cosmic involved in this, but my words about understanding one's place still apply. Alderbridge is an ancient city, with powers long established; even if those powers do not breach the Cosmic threshold, it does not mean they are ones to be trifled with.”

  “I understand. I only want to get Margaret out before this escalates any further.”

  “Then take care.”

  Martin thanked Jacques for the information and made a quick return home. The next day, he brought his group to meet Gascoigne at the bar. Gascoigne appeared to have aged heavily in the two weeks since Martin had last seen him. He was already deep in his cups when Martin and crew arrived. When Martin told him he had an address, it was as if a switch was flipped. The look of drunken despair evaporated instantly, replaced with an intense clarity Martin had never seen in his eyes before.

  “Well, take me there at once. We’ve got to rescue her.” Gascoigne slammed his fist down on the table, spilling beer out of the fresh glass Dillion had been kind enough to buy him.

  “Not now. It’s already late, and the house is on the other side of town. Besides my friend, you’re not in a condition to make your best case right now.”

  “I’m in this condition after drinking a full case, and I’m about as full up as I can stand. You don’t know what it’s like returning to that empty house each night, not knowing if she’s safe and sound. I’ve torn the whole house apart, thrown things all over the shop looking for the slightest hint of where she might have gone, and she’s so gone there’s no one to even clean it up after.”

  Gascoigne seemed on the verge of tears, and Monika rushed to comfort him.

  “Listen, Nate. I do understand your feelings, and I know you want her back with all possible haste, but we only get one shot at this. If we mess it up, there’s a chance she and Brendon could disappear to another safe house, and we never find them again. Let Monika and I have a talk with her first. We’ll see if we can ease her into a meeting with you.”

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  Nate bit his tongue, a long diatribe seemingly about to break out, but with effort, he choked it down, sealing it further with a generous helping of beer.

  “You’re a sympathetic guy, Martin. I always knew that about you. Okay. We’ll try it your way.”

  “Thanks, Nate. We’ll get you back together soon.”

  “You better, or I’m going to show up at that address with my shotgun.”

  Martin made plans to meet Monika outside the bar tomorrow and asked her and Dillion to take Gascoigne home. He signalled Sly to stay behind for a moment.

  “You handled that well,” Sly said, raising his glass in mock salute.

  “Yeah, well, the situation is complicated. Do you know what groups are operating out of the Northside docks? I mean those of the criminal variety.”

  “Oh? A few minor gangs are operating out of there, but it’s a rather poor area. Most of the big groups do their business elsewhere. Margaret didn’t get herself mixed up with any organized crime, did she?”

  “Her boyfriend and his companions are apparently offering protection to the residents in the area.”

  “Well, she fell in love with a regular knight in shining armor, didn’t she? Think he’s got a trusty steed and powerful lance?”

  “Not now, Sly. I need to know if they’re going to get themselves mixed up with something they can’t handle.”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve never done any business that way myself. I’ll ask around, but it might take a day or two.”

  “That’s fine. With just Monika and me, we should be able to keep Margaret from doing anything rash, and hopefully nothing else boils over in the next few days.”

  “Be careful tomorrow, Martin. I’ve got an increasingly bad feeling about this whole thing.”

  “Will do. Thanks, Sly.”

  The next morning, Martin was waiting outside the bar when Monika ran up. An accordionist had set up under the clock and was giving the morning an entirely off-putting soundtrack. Martin had slept little the night before, and the grating noise was doing little to improve his mood.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Monika began, wheezing slightly as she caught her breath. “Nate was in pretty bad shape when Dillion and I dropped him off last night, so I swung by the apartment quickly to check on him.”

  “How was he?”

  “I took some time last night to tidy up before we went home. He seemingly had the energy to throw everything around again since then, but he was slouched over in a pretty bad hangover this morning, fully dressed in his work equipment.”

  “We should have time to stop by after we finish at Margaret’s. Hopefully, we'll have some good news to share that will get him through his shift tonight. Let’s go.”

  “You never did say where we were going.”

  “Northside docks.”

  “Ah, let me grab a coffee on the way then. That’s a hike.”

  Martin rolled his eyes and started walking. They stopped for a cheap cup of coffee along the way. Boudica tried to share one of her usual anecdotes about her brother at Eldridge University, but sensing Martin’s mind was on the task ahead, she eventually lapsed into silence.

  They made their way quickly across the city. As they approached the Northside docks, the coffee carts and street stalls began to thin as fewer hawkers wasted their time with the poor side of town. Martin stopped to ask directions once as they entered the North dockside, as neither he nor Monika was familiar with the area. An old woman was kind enough to point them toward a house near the waterfront, giving them the Creator’s blessing as they parted.

  The two-story house was on a small, natural island separated from the mainland of Alderbridge by a short stone bridge. Anyone approaching the house would have to cross the bridge. Martin wondered if Brendon and his compatriots had considered that point, or if they had thought ahead to prepare an alternative exit. Although the house was old, it was in fairly good condition. The North dockside had a reputation for poverty and crime, but from its daytime appearance, one could almost imagine those to be just rumors.

  Martin paused for a moment at a corner a few blocks away from the bridge, surveying the area. He shushed Monika gently and observed the few people walking the streets. A boy about Will’s age sat on a stone fence a few blocks away, idly smoking a cigarette. He had eyed them suspiciously when they arrived, but was now pointedly ignoring them.

  “What are you looking for?” Monika finally asked, unable to hold it in any longer.

  “Any signs of a trap.”

  “You don’t seriously think?”

  Martin’s look at Monika answered that question. He made a gesture, and they proceeded across the bridge. It was wide enough for a carriage to cross comfortably and still fairly sound, although bits of graffiti could be seen along the walls.

  They crossed quickly to the house, and Martin knocked firmly on the door.

  “Who is it?” came a young voice, trying desperately to sound older than it was.

  “Friends of Margaret’s,” Martin answered.

  The lock clicked open, and a young boy opened the door. He had a black eye slightly covered by his messy blonde hair, and his hand was held behind his back.

  “I didn’t know Margaret had friends. What do you want?”

  “We’re here to talk to her. Is she in?”

  “Yeah, she’s—”

  “Sam, you idiot. I told you not to answer if anyone came for me.”

  Martin looked up the staircase at the female voice that had called down. There at the top of the stairs was Margaret.