As the first light of dawn broke over the capital, casting a soft glow on its streets, dockyards across the city awoke to another day of ceaseless activity. Here, amidst the clatter of crates and the shout of orders, the lifeblood of the empire flowed through vessels of wood and iron, bringing goods from across the empire into the heart of the city.

  Into this cacophony of sound and motion stepped the Faceless Man. His heart, filled with worry, beat unevenly beneath a borrowed breast. Today marked his first appearance as Martin, and the challenge of integrating into a life that was not his own weighed heavily upon him.

  As he approached Crane’s Landing, the first thing he noticed was the line of laborers waiting for work. In recent years, the number of unemployed workers had increased, and the lines of workers each morning looking for a job for the day had gotten correspondingly longer, snaking their way down the streets leading to the dockyard. The morale of the men seemed alright this morning. It was still early, and not too cold, and judging from the number of ships anchored out in the harbor, there would be a fair amount of work available once the ports opened for business. A few laughed and told jokes with each other, as others scarfed down a breakfast of hard bread. Others stood in front of coffee stalls, gripping hot cups of cheap coffee cut with chicory. Martin kept his head down and walked past them, quietly thankful he had a steady position at the Landing.

  Martin joined the much shorter queue of regular employees at the entrance to the Landing. One of the men, a nervous man with clothes just a size too large and a smile that seemed just a bit too wide and too quick to come to his face, greeted him by name.

  “Morning, Martin. Welcome back.”

  “Thanks, Dillion,” Martin replied.

  Dillion had shown up during the Faceless Man’s research. He was often on Martin’s team during the day and the two sometimes went drinking after work. His nervous disposition and too-wide smile had become a source of dockyard lore. Many whispered that Dillion was something other than human, a creature wearing a man’s skin, a jest to which Dillion would laugh along with but never bother trying to dispute. Yet as the Faceless Man looked at him, he could see just a mask of unease rather than anything of cosmic origin.

  “Sly said whatever you caught was pretty bad. You sure you’re ready to come back?”

  Martin waved the note he had.

  “The inspector says my body is ready, and Boudica says my wallet is. Just need to get it past the big man.”

  Dillion laughed and wished him luck. The big man in question was Victor Harrow, Crane’s right hand man. Victor was standing at the entrance at the start of the day, making sure the employees arrived on time, and selecting which of the souls waiting in line for the day’s work would actually receive wages. Dillion had arrived well before his shift and was waved through. Martin, however, was in for an earful.

  “Well, well, well, look who decided to show up for work today. I heard your drinking finally caught up with you?”

  Martin handed over the note.

  “Fever and nausea. Inspector thinks it was something I drank. Maybe someone tried to poison me. You never thought about that, eh?”

  Victor took the note roughly and skimmed its contents.

  “Who would want you dead? Although I’ve always had a hunch your temper would get you killed someday.”

  “Is that a hunch you have or a plan?”

  “Why rush the creator’s will? If I wanted you dead, it wouldn’t be through poison. You’ve got too much ability to be squandering life the way you are.” He folded up the note and put it into his pocket. “This seems in order. Tell me, why should we take you back and not just give your job to one of the lot waiting out there? They’d probably kill each other for the opportunity if I tossed it before them.”

  “Stop wasting my time with questions like that and I’ll show you.”

  Victor laughed and waved him through. “Temper, temper. Welcome back Martin.”

  Martin walked through the gate and quickly followed after Dillion, letting out a silent sigh of relief as his first test of the day had passed. He knew there was a locker room of sorts for the regular employees, but he hadn’t been able to infiltrate the dockyard himself and had only had it described to him by a former employee. With Dillion as his unknowing guide, he was able to locate it without incident. Inside, he was faced with a series of cubbies with employees' names or nicknames written on the top.

  Trying to buy himself time to find Martin’s cubby, he asked Dillion a question.

  “So how’s your mom doing?” Martin asked, following Dillion as if he was more interested in chatting than finding his locker.

  “My mom? You’ve never asked about my mom before.”

  “Ah, just being sick, you know. Had me thinking about the importance of having someone to look after you.”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Ah, I see.” Dillion’s tone made it clear he didn’t really, but he quickly resumed one of his signature smiles and answered. “She’s fine, thanks for asking. Just had a bit of a cold herself last month but made a full recovery, thank the Creator.”

  “That’s good, that’s good.” Martin stood behind Dillion just a moment longer as the man started to put his lunch sack in his cubby along with a light jacket. Thankfully, Martin’s cubby was close, and he was able to find it and move towards it before arousing any more suspicion.

  “Well, there’s a demon in the flesh if ever I did see one.”

  Turning around, Martin spotted Sly entering the locker room. “Welcome back to the land of the living, my friend.” Sly came over and clasped Martin warmly on the shoulder.

  Having learned from his previous slip-up with Boudica, Martin avoided saying thank you and chose his next words carefully.

  “Sly, I told you if you offered me your arm, I’d throw you to the ground.”

  Sly laughed. “Aye, you did, and yet I’m still standing.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Martin put the lunch Boudica prepared in his locker and followed Sly and Dillion out to their assigned dock. Monika, the fourth member of their team, was already fiddling with some of the ropes. Female dockers were unusual, but Monika had earned her place through hard work and quick thinking. She had a younger brother studying at Eldridge University. They say that secrets researched there covered everything from astronomy to medicine to engineering, and depending on who you asked, even the secrets of the Cosmics themselves. Monika’s brother was just studying history, a fact she proudly brought up every time she got drunk. The sacrifices she made, skipping meals and forgoing most nights of drinking with her coworkers, or shamelessly borrowing money she’d not return, spoke volumes of her commitment to her brother's future.

  They exchanged a quick greeting and some early banter as they awaited the first ship. Before Martin had time to stress about how to apply the training he had received, the port was opened and the first ship of the day had arrived.

  “You sure you’re feeling up to this already, old man?” Sly asked.

  “I’m sure. Why don’t you take the lead today, though. Just in case.”

  “Alright, but no slacking off.”

  With Sly giving the orders, Martin could pretty much just do as he was told. The first ship was a grain ship that had taken the Varn into Alderbridge. Sly directed Martin Dylan as they maneuvered a large canvas sheet into place between the ship and the quay to catch any of the sacks that might spill over. The ship’s sailors handled lifting the heavy sacks of grain up from the hold, where they would be passed to Martin and his team to place onto the waiting platform, which was then lowered by winch onto the landing. Monika was in charge there, offloading the grain, sorting it by weight, and taking a close inventory to ensure nothing was lost or stolen. She had inherited the position after rumors of Sly’s light fingers had spread, but the two of them had maintained a friendly relationship regardless.

  Although the grain was kept in thick sacks, the dust still got everywhere. Grain dust was notorious for building up in enclosed spaces and was known to trigger explosions on occasion. So the men worked swiftly but carefully, and the sounds of coughing joined the squeaks of rope and wood. Martin found himself joining in, frequently coughing and spitting out into the water to clear his throat.

  Despite these conditions, as the day went on, Martin found himself drawn into the rhythm of the dockyard. The physical labor was exhausting, but a welcome respite from the thoughts that had haunted his mind of late. It was late afternoon by the time the grains had all been offloaded and sent off to waiting customers or stored in the Landing granary until needed. Just as they were preparing to take their lunch break, Martin had a feeling he was being watched. He was unable to locate anyone until he thought to look up, and there he noticed Bartholomew Crane, the owner of Crane’s landing, observing the morning’s work from his office balcony. The man’s presence sent a sudden shiver down Martin’s spine and brought to mind his reason for this whole charade. He had seen him numerous times by now, but always from the shadows. Even with the mask he wore, he felt just a glance away from being exposed.

  Elisia. Elisia.

  Martin was able to bluff his way through lunch and excused himself from tonight’s round of dice with Sly and Dillion by claiming he was still recovering from his illness. After lunch, two rather high-value ships came in, one carrying antique furniture from the continent and the other crates of iodine and other chemicals. They were short of veteran crews that afternoon, so Martin and his team were assigned the furniture and the simpler geometry of the boxes of chemicals were assigned to one of the crews of day laborers. Martin and his team were making good progress unloading the furniture without any damage when suddenly the sound of a rope snapping cut through the noisy dockyard. A few seconds later, the sound of a crash and countless bottles breaking, punctuated only by a man’s scream, brought the movement in the dockyard to a standstill.

  Martin looked over to see a collapsed crate and broken glass. A single arm lay poking out from under the mess, blood and iodine slowly pooling around it. The man’s cries could be heard throughout the dockyard. It called to mind a wounded animal, one whose only hope was to be put down. Victor Harrow came running up from another ship further down the dock. As he drew level with Martin’s team, he finally caught sight of the damage and paused to let out a curse.

  “Ah, for the Creator’s sake," he muttered.

  “Victor,” Martin said.

  “What is it?”

  “That’s why I’m still here. I don’t make those kinds of mistakes.” the Faceless Man said, hoping he captured a bit of Martin’s bravado.

  Harrow made a face and snapped back, “You’re not finished with that ship yet. If I see a single notch on one of those pieces, you’re going to wish you were the man under the crate.”

  Harrow ran off to see to the injured man and get the rest of the ship unloaded in time to not back up the other deliveries. The crushed man’s name was Woodrow. As the Nuisance inspectors came to cart him off, those nearby swore they could smell the flesh burned away by whatever chemicals had been in the crate. Others swore they could hear him muttering crazily, speaking of vengeance against Crane himself. Although Crane wasn’t popular amongst his employees, few blamed him for Woodrow’s accident. The police came for a token investigation and were shown around by a ubiquitous Harrow. The whole thing was eventually chalked up to Woodrow’s negligence. Rumor had it he would be awarded a modest disability payment, or a bereavement to his wife should he not survive.

  Martin did his best not to dwell on such matters and passed the rest of his shift uneventfully. He returned home right after his shift, tired and sober, much to Boudica’s surprise. The two passed another quiet evening, and this time, sleep claimed them just a touch faster than it had the night before. Through his exhaustion, he only saw the real Martin’s eyes once.