The Alloy of Law: A Mistborn Novel (7 page)

“She’s a very good match,” Waxillium said. “It’s an ideal situation for both of us.”

“Look, mate. Just because Lessie—”

“This is
not
about Lessie.”

“Whoa, hey.” Wayne raised a hand. “No need to get angry.”

“I’m not—” Waxillium took a deep breath, then continued more softly. “I’m not angry. But it’s not about Lessie. This is about my duties.”

Damn you, Wayne. I’d almost gotten myself to stop thinking about her.
What would Lessie say, if she saw what he was doing? Laugh, probably. Laugh at how ridiculous it was, laugh at his discomfort. She hadn’t been the jealous type, perhaps because she’d never had any reason to be. With a woman like her, why would Waxillium have wanted to look elsewhere?

Nobody would ever live up to her, but fortunately it didn’t matter. Steris’s contract actually seemed a good thing, in that regard. It would help him divide himself. Maybe help with a little of the pain.

“This
is
my duty now,” Waxillium repeated.

“Your duties used to involve saving folks,” Wayne said, “not marrying ’em.”

Waxillium crouched down beside the chair. “Wayne. I can’t go back to what I was. You sauntering in here, meddling in my life, isn’t going to change that. I’m a different person now.”

“If you were going to become a different person, couldn’t you have chosen one without such an ugly face?”

“Wayne, this is
serious
.”

Wayne raised his hand, spinning the cartridge between his fingers and proffering it. “So is this.”

“What
is
that?”

“Bullet. You shoot folks with ’em. Hopefully bad ones—or at least ones what owes you a bar or two.”

“Wayne—”

“They’re turning back.” Wayne set the cartridge on the tea-serving tray.

“But—”

“Time to cough. Three. Two. One.”

Waxillium cursed under his breath, but pocketed the round and stood back up. He started coughing loudly as the speed bubble collapsed, restoring normal time. To the three visitors, only seconds had passed, and to their ears Waxillium and Wayne’s conversation would be sped up to the point that most of it would be inaudible. The coughing would cover anything else.

None of the three visitors seemed to have noticed anything unusual. Waxillium poured the tea—it was a deep cherry color today, likely a sweet fruit tea—and brought a cup over to Marasi. She took it, and he sat down, holding his own cup in one hand, taking out and gripping the cartridge with the other. Both the casing and the medium-caliber bullet’s jacket looked like steel, but the entire thing seemed too light. He frowned, hefting it.

Blood on her face. Blood on the brick wall.

He shivered, fighting off those memories.
Damn you, Wayne,
he thought again.

“The tea is delicious,” Marasi said softly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Waxillium said, forcing his mind back to the conversation. “Lady Steris, I will consider this contract. Thank you for producing it. But really, I was hoping this meeting might allow me to learn more about you.”

“I have been working on an autobiography,” she said. “Perhaps I will send you a chapter or two of it by post.”

“That’s … very unconventional of you,” Waxillium said. “Though it would be appreciated. But please, tell me of yourself. What are your interests?”

“Normally, I like plays.” She grimaced. “At the Coolerim, actually.”

“Am I missing something?” Waxillium asked.

“The Coolerim Playhouse,” Wayne said, leaning forward. “Two nights ago, it was robbed in the middle of the performance.”

“Haven’t you heard?” Lord Harms asked. “It was in all the broadsheets.”

“Was anyone harmed?”

“Not at the event itself,” Lord Harms said, “but they did take a hostage as they escaped.”

“Such a
horrid
thing,” Steris said. “Nobody has heard from Armal yet.” She looked sick.

“You knew her?” Wayne asked, his accent slipping faintly as he grew interested.

“Cousin,” Steris said.

“Same as…” Waxillium asked, nodding toward Marasi.

The three regarded him with confused expressions for a moment, but then Lord Harms jumped in. “Ah, no. Different side of the family.”

“Interesting,” Waxillium said, leaning back in his chair, tea sitting ignored in his hand. “And ambitious. Robbing an entire playhouse? How many of the robbers were there?”

“Dozens,” Marasi said. “Maybe as many as thirty, so the reports say.”

“Quite a band. That means as many as another eight just to drive them away. And vehicles for escaping. Impressive.”

“It’s the Vanishers,” Marasi said. “The ones stealing from the railway also.”

“That hasn’t been proven,” Wayne replied, pointing at her.

“No. But one of the witnesses from a railway robbery described several men who were at the theater robbery.”

“Wait,” Waxillium said. “There were witnesses to one of the railway robberies? I thought they happened in secret. Something about a ghostly railcar appearing on the tracks?”

“Yes,” Wayne said. “The railway engineers stop to investigate and—probably—panic. But the phantom railcar vanishes before they can investigate it. They continue on, but when they reach the end of the line, one of their train’s cars is empty. Still locked, no signs of forced entry. But the goods are all gone.”

“So nobody sees the culprits,” Waxillium said.

“The recent ones have been different,” Marasi said, growing animated. “They’ve started robbing passenger cars as well. When the train stops because of the phantom on the tracks, men jump into the cars and start going through, collecting jewelry and pocketbooks from the occupants. They take a woman hostage—threatening to kill her if anyone follows—and go. The freight car is still robbed as well.”

“Curious,” Waxillium said.

“Yes,” Marasi said. “I think—”

“My dear,” Lord Harms cut in. “You are bothering Lord Ladrian.”

Marasi blushed, then looked down.

“It wasn’t a bother,” Waxillium said, tapping his teacup with his finger. “It—”

“Is that a
bullet
in your fingers?” Steris asked, pointing.

Waxillium looked down, realizing that he was rolling the cartridge between forefinger and thumb. He closed his fist around it before his memories could return. “It’s nothing.” He shot a glare at Wayne.

The other man mouthed something.
Push on it.

“You are
quite
certain your unconventional past is behind you, Lord Ladrian?” Steris asked.

“Oh, he’s certain,” Wayne said, grimacing. “You don’t have to worry about
him
being unconventional. Why, he’s downright boring! Unbelievably, comically, nonsensically
boring
. You could squeeze more excitement out of a beggar waiting in line at the soup kitchen on rat meat day. It—”

“Thank you,
Uncle,
” Waxillium said dryly. “Yes, Steris, my past is just that. Past. I am committed to my duties as head of House Ladrian.”

“Very well,” she said. “We will need a formal entrance into high society as a couple. A public event of some sort.”

“How about the Yomen-Ostlin wedding dinner?” Waxillium said absently.
Push on it.
“I received an invitation just this morning.”

“An excellent idea,” Lord Harms said. “We were invited as well.”

Push on it.
Waxillium reached into his left sleeve and covertly took a small pinch of steel shavings from the pouch he kept there. He dropped it into his tea and took a drink. That didn’t give him much of a reserve, but it was enough.

He burned the steel, the familiar lines of blue springing up around him. They pointed to all nearby sources of metal.

Except the one in his fingers.

Aluminum,
he realized.
No wonder it’s light.

Aluminum and a few of its alloys were Allomantically inert; you couldn’t Push or Pull on them. It was also
very
expensive. It cost more than even gold or platinum.

The bullet was designed to kill Coinshots and Lurchers, men like Waxillium himself. That gave him a shiver, though he gripped the round more tightly. There were days when he’d have given his best gun for a few aluminum bullets, though he hadn’t heard of an alloy that would produce a bullet with sound ballistics.

Where?
he mouthed to Wayne.
Where did you find it?

Wayne just nodded to the guests, who were looking right at Waxillium.

“Are you quite all right, Lord Ladrian?” Steris asked. “I know a good zinc counselor if you have need of some emotional aid.”

“Er … no. Thank you. I am quite all right, and I think this has been a very productive meeting. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“That depends,” she said, rising, apparently taking that as an invitation to end the conversation. “The wedding party is on the morrow, I believe. I can count on you having reviewed the contract by then?”

“You can,” Waxillium said, rising as well.

“
I
think this meeting was wonderful,” Wayne said as he stood. “You’re just what my nephew needs, Lady Steris! A firm hand. None of this rabble-rousing he’s been used to.”

“I agree!” Lord Harms said. “Lord Ladrian, perhaps your uncle can attend the dinner—”

“No,” Waxillium said quickly before Wayne could say anything. “No, unfortunately, he has to return to his estates. Told me just earlier. He has a very important foaling to attend.”

“Oh, well then,” Lord Harms said, helping Marasi to her feet. “We will send you word of confirmation once we have accepted the Yomen invitation.”

“And I will do likewise,” Waxillium said, escorting them to the door of the room. “Farewell until then.” Tillaume bowed to them there, then escorted them out. Their departure felt rushed to Waxillium, but he was relieved to see them go. Considering Wayne’s sudden intrusion, that had actually gone pretty well. Nobody had ended up trying to shoot him.

“Nice bunch,” Wayne said. “I now see what you’re doing. With a wife and in-laws like those, you’ll feel quite at home here—just like the jailhouse and its occupants back in Weathering!”

“Very nice,” Waxillium said under his breath, waving one last time as the Harms family walked out the mansion doors. “Where did you get the bullet?”

“It was dropped at the theater robbery. Traded the constables for it this morning.”

Waxillium closed his eyes. Wayne had a very liberal interpretation of what “trading” entailed.

“Oh, don’t get that way,” Wayne said. “I left them a nice cobblestone for it. I think Steris and her pop are convinced you’re a loon, by the way.” He grinned.

“That’s nothing new. My association with you has been convincing people I’m insane for years now.”

“Ha! And here I thought you’d lost your sense of humor.” Wayne walked back into the room. He slid his pencil out of his pocket as he passed a table, trading it for one of Waxillium’s pens.

“My humor isn’t lost, Wayne,” Waxillium said, “just strained. What I told you is true, and this bullet doesn’t change anything.”

“Maybe it doesn’t,” Wayne said, retrieving his hat, duster, and dueling canes. “But I’m still gonna see what I can find.”

“It’s not your job.”

“And it wasn’t your job to start hunting down criminals out in the Roughs. Doesn’t change what needs to be done, mate.” Wayne walked up to Waxillium, then handed him the hat. Once Waxillium took it, Wayne threw on his coat.

“Wayne…”

“People are being taken, Wax,” he said, taking back his hat and putting it on. “Four hostages so far. None returned. Stealing jewelry is one thing. Taking food from Roughs towns is another. Kidnapping people … well, there’s something goin’ on here. I’m gonna find out what it is. With or without you.”

“Without me.”

“Fine.” He hesitated. “But I need something, Wax. A place to look. You always did the thinking.”

“Yes, having a brain helps with that, surprisingly.”

Wayne narrowed his eyes at him. Then he raised his eyebrows, pleadingly.

“All right,” Waxillium said, sighing and fetching his teacup. “How many robberies now?”

“Eight. Seven railway cars and, most recently, the theater.”

“Four hostages?”

“Yeah. Across three of the latest robberies. Two were taken from one of the trains, then one from the robbery at the theater. All four hostages are women.”

“Easier to overpower,” Waxillium said idly, tapping his cup, “and more likely to make the men worry about getting them killed if they try to give chase.”

“Do you need to know what was stolen?” Wayne said, reaching into the pocket of his duster. “I traded one of the constables for a list.…”

“It doesn’t matter.” Waxillium took a drink from his cup. “Or, at least, most of it probably doesn’t. It’s not about the robberies.”

“It’s … not?”

“No. Large gang. Well funded—too well funded.” He pulled out the round and looked it over. “If they really wanted money, they’d be robbing gold transports or banks. The robberies are probably a distraction. If you want a man’s horses, sometimes the best thing to do is let his hogs loose. While he’s chasing them down, you ride off.

“I’d lay money on these Vanishers being after something else, something unlikely. Perhaps an item that is easy to overlook in all that has been taken. Or maybe it’s really about extortion—and they plan to start asking for protection money from people in town. See if anyone’s been contacted about that. I haven’t, by the way.

“If that goes nowhere, look at the hostages. One of them might have been carrying something that was the
real
target of the robbery. I wouldn’t be surprised if this turned out to be about clandestine blackmail.”

“But they robbed a few trains before taking any hostages.”

“Yes,” Waxillium said. “And they got away with it. There was no reason to expose themselves by robbing passengers if they could make off with cargo unseen and unstopped. They’re after something else, Wayne. Trust me.”