Shadows of Self (20 page)

He popped it into his mouth and thought about what a rusted fool his friend was. Obviously, Wax persisted with this whole engagement-to-Steris mess because he missed Lessie so much. So Wax had chosen a marriage that demanded no emotional investment. That was easy to see as the bottom of your own glass at a pub with watered-down ale, that was.

Wayne held out his hand to help Marasi down from their coach. “You look nice,” she told him. “I’m surprised you agreed to wear that.”

Wayne glanced down at his sharply tailored suit, chewing absently. Marasi acted amazed that he had a suit, matched by a fancy bowler on his head and a dark green cravat. Why wouldn’t he have a costume like this? He had beggar costumes, constable costumes, and old lady costumes. A fellow needed to be able to blend with his surroundings. In the Roughs, that meant having some pale brown cowhand’s costume. In the city, that meant having a fancy twit costume.

The stupid line was so long that aluminum could have rusted in the time it took them to reach the halfway point.
Rusting Wax and his cheating ways,
Wayne thought. The man could have at least taken Wayne instead of Steris.

Up ahead, oddly, a couple was turned away, forced to trudge back toward their carriage despite all the waiting.
What’s going on up there?
Fancy people like this didn’t get turned away from parties, did they? Everyone had an invitation, even if his was forged. It was just like the one he’d given to the old tyrant at the school though.

Well, no telling until they arrived. And this line was still moving
sloooooooowwwww
.

“That fellow you caught ever say anything useful?” he asked Marasi.

“No,” Marasi said. “He isn’t all there, mentally. We did find what seems to be a Hemalurgic spike in him though.”

“Rusts. You know ’bout that too?”

“I got to read the book,” Marasi said absently. “Death
did
give it to me first, and Waxillium let me make a copy. Our captive had a piercing on some skin in his chest. After we removed that, he calmed. But he still won’t talk.”

Eventually, after seven crop rotations or so, they reached the front of the line. Marasi presented their invitation. The bouncer here looked it over, his face grim. “I’m afraid that we’ve been ordered to deny any nameless invitations not in the possession of the people they were sent to. With the attempt on the governor’s life, only guests named on our list can be allowed in.”

“But—” Marasi said.

“Here now,” Wayne cut in. “We’re important people. Don’t you see how fancy my cravat is?”

Near the door, men in black coats stepped forward, threatening. Rusting government security. Constables, they were real people—oh, they might bust a man’s neck now and then, but they came from the streets same as anyone. These spooks though … they barely had any soul to them.

“I saved the governor’s life today,” Marasi said. “Surely you won’t turn
me
away.”

“There’s nothing I can do, I’m afraid,” the bouncer said, his stern face completely expressionless.

Yeah, something was going on here. Wayne grabbed Marasi’s arm, towing her aside. “Let’s go. Rusting fools.”

“But—”

Wayne glanced over his shoulder and, just at the right moment, tossed up a speed bubble. “Alrighty, then,” he said. “New plan!”

“You sound excited,” she said, glancing at the borders of the speed bubble. It was more distinct than usual, as the mist inside the bubble continued to shift and move while that outside hung frozen in the air like gauze.

“I’m an excitable type,” Wayne said, hurrying back to the lectern where the bouncer stood. Wayne had managed to catch the lectern in his speed bubble, but not the bouncer. Right fine precision on his part. That little pedestal had a name manifest on it.

“I think you gave up too easily on getting in the ordinary way,” Marasi said, folding her arms.

“Our names are on here,” Wayne said, careful to keep moving as he read it over. “In a column of people specifically to be kept out. Wouldn’t have mattered how well you argued.”

“What?” she demanded, shoving up beside him. “Damn. I saved his
life,
the bastard.”

“Marasi!” Wayne said, grinning. “You’re startin’ to talk normal-like.”

“Because of you,” she said, then paused. “Bastard.”

He grinned, chewing his gum loudly. “You saved the governor’s life, yeah, but it’s probably his security who want to keep you out, not him. They’ve got mud on their faces because one of their own went rotten, and you embarrassed them by noticing first.”

“But that’s petty! They’re playing with the governor’s life!”

“Men are petty.” He danced to the side.

“Why are you moving like that?”

“If I stay too long in one place, they have a chance of seeing me, even with how fast we’re moving inside this bubble. If we keep moving we’ll be a blur, and out in the mists that should be unnoticeable.”

She reluctantly started moving.

Wayne glanced over the lists again, recognizing a name. “Here now. That one will work.”

“Wayne, you’re going to get us into trouble, aren’t you?”

“Only if we get caught!” He pointed. “They have two lists—people they’re to turn away no matter what, and people they’re to allow. See the notes? Fourth name down? Says he sent word he might not come, and they’re to make certain nobody else uses his invitation.”

“Wayne,” Marasi said, “that’s Professor Hanlanaze. He’s a brilliant mathematician.”

“Hm,” Wayne said, rubbing his chin. “From the university.”

“No, from New Seran. He’s been behind some of the discoveries in combustion technology.”

Wayne perked up. “From outside the city. So people might not know him.”

“They will by reputation.”

“But personally?”

“He’s somewhat reclusive,” Marasi said. “He often gets invited to things like this, but rarely comes. Wayne, I see that look in your eye. You
can’t
imitate him.”

“What’s the worst that could come of it?”

“We get caught,” she said, still walking with him around the speed bubble. “We get thrown in prison, prosecuted for conspiracy, embarrass Waxillium.”

“Now that,” Wayne said, striding back to where he’d been standing when he’d sped up time, “is the best damn argument for trying this that anyone could make. Come back so I can drop this speed bubble. After that we’re gonna need to find us some weapons.”

Marasi paled, joining him. “If you are thinking of sneaking guns in—”

“Not guns,” Wayne said with a grin. “A different kind of weapon.
Math.
”

*   *   *

“So that kandra is in here,” Steris said softly from her place on Wax’s arm as she scanned the party room. “Somewhere.”

The penthouse of ZoBell Tower encompassed its entire top floor, with windows ringing the outside. Light from a dozen dim chandeliers played off wineglasses, diamond jewelry, sequins on sleek dresses. The dress style was new. Was he so oblivious to fashion that he had missed such a dramatic shift?

Steris wore more traditional attire—a kind of gauzy, draping white dress with a very small bustle and a distinct waist. However, it had sequins lining the collar and cuffs, and was more filmy—lighter than what she normally wore, and actually quite pretty on her. With the sequins, it shared something with these modern gowns.

The party attendees moved around several bars and numerous small displays set up on the red-carpeted floor. Wax and Steris passed one, a stand with a glass box enclosing a raw copper nugget as big as a man’s head. Light glimmered on its surface.

Allomantic metals,
Wax thought as they passed another display. Dozens of specimens, with plaques talking about where the nugget or vein had been mined. They provoked conversations around the room, clusters of people chatting as light played off the colorful drinks in their fingers.

“You’re drawing attention,” Steris noted. “I’m not certain wearing the coat was a wise move.”

“The mistcoat is a symbol,” Wax said. “It is a reminder.” She’d talked him out of the hat, but not this.

“It makes you look like a ruffian.”

“It’s supposed to. Maybe they’ll think twice about lying to me; I don’t want to be part of their games.”

“You are
already
part of their games, Lord Waxillium.”

“Which is why I don’t like coming to the parties.” He held up his hand, cutting her off. “I know. It’s important that we be here. Let’s go chat with the partygoers you’ve planned for us to approach.”

She always had a list, carefully prepared. Steris was the only person he’d ever heard of who brought an agenda to a cocktail party.

“No,” she said.

“No?”

“That is what we commonly do,” Steris said, giving a specific smile—she practiced different ones—to Lady Mulgrave as they passed. “Tonight’s purpose is yours. Let us be about it and find that killer.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes,” she said, waving to another couple. “It behooves a wife to be interested in, if not involved in, the passions of her spouse.”

“You don’t need to do that, Steris. I—”

“Please,” she said softly. “I do.”

Wax let the argument drop. Truth was, he was pleased. With the possibility that Bleeder was here somewhere, Wax wouldn’t be able to relax anyway.

So how to find the creature? More importantly, how would he beat someone who could move in a blur? Unlike Allomancy—which burned at a few standard rates—Feruchemical powers could be used up all at once. Bleeder could drain her metalminds in a single burst of speed—and could probably take down dozens of people in an eyeblink. Maybe even hundreds. And Wax wouldn’t be able to do a thing.

But perhaps she wouldn’t have enough left for that. She couldn’t just pop more metal in, like an Allomancer, and refill her reserves. She’d have to rely on what speed she had been able to store up, and she’d only stolen her spike recently. Killing the people at Winsting’s party would have expended a large amount of what she’d theoretically been able to save up over the last few weeks.

So he had two options. Kill her before she moved, or somehow get her to waste her Feruchemical reserve without hurting anyone.

He stepped up to the bar, ordering drinks, then turned to scan the crowd. It had been two decades since he’d been a part of high society, and his two years back in Elendel hadn’t yet polished off all the rust. Everyone here had the same counterfeit way about them—they chatted with a studied air of merriment while secretly pursuing their own agendas. There was no better place for a murderer to blend in than this.

Drinks in hand, Wax stepped down from the bar and turned on his steel bubble.

It wasn’t something he’d always been able to do, and he wasn’t entirely certain how he did it. Oh, the basic mechanics were obvious: he burned steel, then Pushed lightly outward from himself in all directions at once. But how had he learned to exempt metal he himself carried? He still didn’t know. It was just something that had happened, over time.

With the bubble on, his Allomantic instincts searched out any bits of metal moving quickly toward him, and would Push on those with increasing force as they drew closer. He was getting better and better at that. Standing and letting Darriance shoot at his chest while wearing about twelve inches of padding and armor had helped. He couldn’t dodge bullets, but the bubble helped.

“What did you just do?” Steris asked as he reached her. “My bracelet wants to leap off my arm.”

“Remove it,” Wax said. “If there’s an Allomantic fight, I don’t want you wearing any metals.”

Steris raised an eyebrow, but took off the bracelet and dropped it in her handbag. Wax mentally added an exception for it.

“I don’t know that it will matter,” Steris said. “This place is positively teeming with metal. What are you doing with your drink?”

Wax looked up. He’d just finished covertly dumping a bit of brown powder into his cup. “I got water,” he said. “The powder will make it look like I’m drinking brandy. If I can feign drunkenness later, it might give me an edge.”

“Fascinating,” Steris said. She seemed genuinely impressed.

They moved through the room, passing under a chandelier. The separate bits of crystal—which had wires suspending them—moved subtly away from Wax, like the needle of a compass confronted by a magnet’s matching pole. He accidentally knocked a nugget off a pedestal as they passed. Rusts. Against his better judgment, he dampened his steel bubble.

“Let’s find the governor,” Steris said.

Wax nodded. He couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter which way he turned, someone had a gun pointed at his back.

Someone else moves us, lawman.

Red on the bricks. Lessie in his arms, already dead. His hands stained with her blood.…

No. He’d moved past that. He’d
grieved
. He wouldn’t be sucked down into that spiral again. As they continued through the party, a pair of lesser nobles wearing dark colors moved to intercept them, but Wax gave them a glare, which was enough to get them to back off.

“Lord Waxillium…” Steris said.

“What?” Wax asked. “You said we were going to the governor.”

“That doesn’t mean you can growl at everyone else.”

“I didn’t growl.” Did he?

“Let me handle it next time,” Steris said, guiding them around a pedestal displaying—oddly—nothing at all. The plaque read:
ATIUM, THE LOST METAL
.

As they neared the governor—who stood holding court near the windows on the north side—a man in a bright yellow bow tie noticed Wax. Great. Lord Stenet. He would want to talk about textile tariffs again. But of course he wouldn’t
say
that, not at first. People never said what they meant around here.

“Lord Waxillium!” Stenet said. “I was just thinking about you! How are your wedding arrangements proceeding? Should I look forward to an invitation soon?”

“Not too soon,” Steris said. “We’ve only just settled on a priest. What of you? Your engagement is the talk of the city!”

His face fell. “Oh. Now, about that…” He cleared his throat. Steris prodded, but in a moment Stenet had found an excuse, changed the topic, then politely retreated.