Around noon, the work at the dockyard gradually came to a halt. It was too early for the midday lunch break, and the ships docked at Crane’s landing still had valuable cargo inside them waiting to be unloaded. Despite that, the cacophony of shouting voices, clattering crates, and the incessant creaking of ropes and pulleys began to wind down as the men and women of the dockyard made their way to the water to witness the departure of the Monitor.

  Constructed in the sprawling military dry dock located in a lake connected to the Varn River by a tributary, the Monitor’s silhouette was unlike any vessel that had graced the waters of the empire before. An ironclad, people were calling it, the first of its kind. Eschewing the traditional sails that had for centuries been the power driving naval travel and combat, the Monitor instead drew its power from a steam engine, a behemoth of iron and fire that pulsed within its hull. This engine, a marvel of modern engineering developed by the geniuses at the university, propelled the ship through the water with a speed and agility that belied its size, leaving in its wake a trail of churning foam and astonished onlookers.

  The ship’s design was revolutionary, its body wrought from thick plates of iron, riveted together with meticulous precision. These ironclad shells would repel shipboard cannon fire with ease, and would even resist the larger guns mounted on the shoreline. Atop the Monitor’s deck sat its most formidable weapon, a rotating cannon of unprecedented power for a sea-going vessel. Encased in an iron turret, this cannon could unleash devastation upon the empire’s foes, its barrel turning a full 360 degrees for an enormous tactical advantage over its foes. Just the cannon itself was a masterpiece of ordnance, capable of firing shells of tremendous size and explosive power, every shot a thunderous proclamation of the empire’s might.

  This new creation was not just an impressive feat of engineering and a weapon of war, but a statement of intent. Even the ways of war Martin had experienced a few short years ago were giving way to new methods of destruction, and the empire sought to maintain its dominance on the world stage through innovation and power. The ship was a symbol of progress and a manifestation of the era’s fascination with technology.

  The crew of the Monitor, handpicked for their expertise and loyalty to the empire, was a new breed of sailor. Trained in the operation of steam engines and heavy artillery, they were as much engineers as they were seamen. Many of them stood now on the deck of the Monitor as it sailed down the river, soaking in the praise and admiration of those who stood on the shoreline. Crowds of onlookers had gathered along the shore, facilitated by the navy itself, which had ordered the river and harbors cleared so that nothing obstructed its new battleship's maiden voyage. Even the dockers of Crane’s Landing could feel themselves getting swept up in a wave of patriotism.

  “I reckon you could kill a Cosmic with a cannon like that.” Sly had said, clapping Dillion on the back.

  “For sure, soon the empire will be the biggest power on the planet. I bet you wish you had sailed in a vessel like that when you were in the service, eh Martin?” Dillion replied.

  Martin grunted noncommittally. He had seen the use of new technology against the servants of the Cosmics. The guncotton Jacques had squirreled away had been the deciding factor in their battle with the servant of the Beautiful Goddess after all, but if even half of what Jacques had told him was true, they were still but tiny pieces of a much larger universe, and Martin couldn’t shake the feeling that a dozen Monitors wouldn’t be enough to give a true cosmic pause.

  The crowd continued waving, and on the deck, any free hand was waving back. The Monitor made steady progress down the river and out to sea. They were sailing off to the colonies to test their mettle against pirates and the other horrors that lived there. Martin, the real Martin, had lived that life, and the horrors of which were something he would only speak of deep in his cups. The Faceless Man knew the stories only second-hand and did not envy the men who were off to face such trials. A power to rival the cosmics, he had heard them say. We’ll see if it’s equal to tide and man first, he thought. The Faceless Man shook his head and returned to work. As the Monitor sailed out of sight, the crowds also dispersed, and for a brief moment the city was caught in the silence that only follows farewells. At the landing, a bell suddenly rang and the spell was broken. Cacophony reigned over the city once more.

  As the day waned and the dockyard closed for business, Martin made his way to the gun range for his lesson with Jacques. The morning’s excitement aside, he was feeling frustrated. He still hadn’t found even the slightest mention of something that could be his family in the library. At work, he had been unable to find any time alone with Harrow to make his case, and Crane himself was still an invisible deity watching from somewhere in the clouds. And at home, while Boudica had chosen not to press him on going to church, she still had the bottle of wine sitting on the shelf with no hint as to when she would crack it open or why. At least with his marksmanship, he was feeling a sense of progress, and he was quite looking forward to what Jacques would show him today.

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  After his duel with Rafe, Manton had let Martin keep the shoulder holster. Although George had shown Martin all the honorable ways to draw and use a holster, Martin’s lesson with Jacques was more about how to carry a gun discreetly. He had brought in several alternative holsters as teaching tools, as well as showing Martin a few other ways to stash a gun on one’s person, carefully explaining the pros and cons of each.

  Their lesson done for the day, Martin cleaned up the used casings and tidied up the range while Jacques went to fetch a drink. After that, the two sat down to go over Martin’s progress, or lack thereof. Martin briefly explained his search at the library and his lack of progress with

  “Hmm, it’s not a bad idea, but I think you’re underestimating the power of unnaming.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s one of the most powerful magics the church has at its disposal. It has the power to warp reality. Not only do you forget who you are, but everyone else does as well. Your lover, your family, your closest friends; In time, you would become nothing but a faint blur to them. It's not something the church employs lightly, and not something they employ without following through.”

  He paused to take a drink of his wine.

  “A few years back, a group of scholars found a document that was rumoured to contain the true name of the Betrayer. They announced it thinking the University would protect them, but there’s no protection from Inquisitors when their bottom line is crossed. Every man who saw that document died terribly. Not only was the record itself removed to the church for safekeeping, but every record of the document was purged. Now the story exists as only that, a story, but even then it’s one I’d take care to look around you before telling, as the walls have ears and the Inquisitors know more than a few spells to find heresy wherever it lies.”

  “Do you think I’ve alerted someone in the church with my search?”

  “I doubt it. You’re not the Betrayer, but keep your expectations in check. The church doesn’t roll dice. If you have been unnamed, they’d be sure to cover their tracks.”

  “Understood, but I’ve spent this much time there, I need to see it to the end. I can’t take the chance that they have missed something, and the answer I seek is just a few pages away from wherever I stopped.”

  “Then carry on, but do so with caution. But let’s talk about the Landing. You’ve put your name forward, but there’s no real reason for them to promote you, right?”

  “Not at the moment, no.”

  “Then if there isn’t a path laid out for you, you’ll have to make your own.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look for a chance to prove yourself, something that will bring you to Crane’s notice and make him want to bring you into his inner circle.”

  “And what kind of chance would that be?”

  “That I can’t say, you’ll have to find that out for yourself, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt to find out more about Crane and his right-hand man. Maybe that will guide you to the kind of impression you need to leave.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. I’ll give that a try. Thank you again for the training and your guidance.”

  Jacques raised his glass in acknowledgement and then downed the rest of his wine.

  “That’s what I’m here for. Oh, by the way, come to the Chapel in two nights’ time. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  Martin gave his commitment, and the two bid each other farewell. Martin made his way back home as Jacques disappeared into the night. Whether he was off to the Faceless Chapel or had some other business that night, he couldn’t say. Boudica was engaged in her knitting when he returned, the bottle of wine still unopened on the shelf. The two exchanged greetings like a true couple that had been married for years and settled in for the rest of the night. Martin had come clean to Boudica about signing up for a subscription to the Imperial Library, as it would be difficult to keep anything related to their finances from her. It had raised her eyebrow, but she didn’t protest too much, perhaps grateful it wasn’t drink or the church. Martin had taken advantage of the card to borrow a novel, recently translated from the continent. The translation work left a bit to be desired, but he found the story rather engaging, and he was hoping to finish another chapter before bed tonight.

  As the night grew darker and their candle started to dim, the two decided it was time for bed. Boudica had made a rare mistake when setting up her shawl and had needed to undo several rows of stitches. It was left on the table, barely further along than it had been when Martin had walked on. Martin, despite his enthusiasm for the book, had found it hard to concentrate as Jacques’ words about unnaming echoed in his head. What could he possibly have done to deserve such a fate? He continued ruminating as the two prepared for bed. As he lay beside Boudica, a part of him wondered if he was better off not finding out the truth.

  Struggling to fall asleep, he let his mind turn to the reason he had started the search- his daughter.

  Elisia. Elisia.

  He brought his breath under control and focused on her face. The curls of her hair, the lips raised in the corner of her smile. As her face became clearer in his mind, he could feel his body relax and his fears slowly dissipate. Soon, he fell into a deep sleep.