Mistborn: The Hero of Ages (41 page)

He found the man he wanted sitting at a desk in a top-floor room. B alding, wearing a rich suit. He had a petite mustache set in a round face, and was slumped, eyes closed, a bottle of hard liquor empty at his feet. Marsh saw this with displeasure.

"I come all this way to get you," Marsh said. "And when I finally f ind you, I discover that you have intoxicated yourself into a stupor?"

The man had never met Marsh, of course. That didn't stop Marsh from feeling annoyed that he wouldn't be able to see the look of terror and surprise in the man's eyes when he found an Inquisitor in his home. Marsh would miss out on the f ear, the anticipation of death. Briefly, Marsh was tempted to wait until the man sobered up so that the killing could be performed properly. But, Ruin would have none of that. Marsh sighed at the injustice of it, then slammed the unconscious man down against the f loor and drove a small bronze spike through his heart. It wasn't as large or thick as an Inquisitor spike, but it killed just as well. Marsh ripped it out of the man's heart, leaving the former nobleman dead, blood pooling on the floor.

Then, Marsh walked out, leaving the building. The nobleman Marsh didn't even know his name had used Allomancy recently. The man was a Smoker, a Misting who could create copperclouds, and the use of his ability had drawn Ruin's attention. Ruin had been wanting an Allomancer to drain. And so, Marsh had come to harvest the man's power and draw it into the spike . It seemed something of a waste to him. Hemalurgy particularly Allomantic imbues was much more potent when one could drive the spike through the victim's heart and directly into a waiting host. That way, very little of the Allomantic ability was lost. Doing it this way killing the Allomancer to make a spike, then traveling somewhere else to place it would grant the new host far less power. But, there was no getting around it in this case. Marsh shook his head as he stepped over the maidservant's body again, moving out into the unkempt gardens . No one accosted, or even looked at, him as he made his way to the front gates. There, however, he was surprised to find a couple of skaa men kneeling on the ground. "Please, Your Grace," one said as Marsh passed. "Please, send the obligators back to us. We will serve better this time."

"You have lost that opportunity," Marsh said, staring at them with his spike-heads.

"We will believe in the Lord Ruler again," another said. "He fed us. Please. Our families have no food."

"Well," Marsh said. "You needn't worry about that for long." The men knelt, confused, as Marsh left. He didn't kill them, though part of him wished to. Unfortunately, Ruin wanted to claim that privilege for himself. Marsh walked across the plain outside the town. After about an hour's time he stopped, turning to look back at the community and the towering ashmount behind it. At that moment, the top left half of the mountain exploded, spewing a deluge of dust, ash, and rock. The earth shook, and a booming sound washed over Marsh. Then, flaming hot and red, a large gout of magma began to flow down the side of the ashmount toward the plain.

Marsh shook his head. Yes. Food was hardly this town's biggest problem. They really needed to get their priorities straight.

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Hemalurgy is a power about which I wish I knew far less. To Ruin, power must have an inordinatel y
high cost using it must be attractive, yet must sow chaos and destruction in its ver y implementation.
In concept, it is a ver y simple art. A parasitic one. Without other people to steal f rom, Hemalurgy
would be useless.

35

"YOU'LL BE ALL RIGHT HERE?"
Spook asked.

Breeze turned away from the brightened tavern, raising an eyebrow. Spook had brought him along with several of Goradel's soldiers in street clothing to one of the larger, more reputable locations. Voices rang within.

"Yes, this should be fine," Breeze said, eyeing the tavern. "Skaa out at night. Never thought I'd see that. Perhaps the world really
is
ending. . . ." "I'm going to go to one of the poorer sections of town," Spook said quietly. "There are some things I want to check on."

"Poorer sections," Breeze said musingly. "Perhaps I should accompany you. I've found that the poorer people are, the more likely they are to let their tongues wag." Spook raised an eyebrow. "No offense, Breeze, but I kind of think you'd stand out."

"What?" Breeze asked, nodding toward his utilitarian brown worker's outfit quite a change from his usual suit and vest. "I'm wearing these dreadful clothes, aren't I?"

"Clothing isn't everything, Breeze. You've kind of got a . . . bearing about you. Plus, you don't have much ash on you."

"I was infiltrating the lower ranks before you were born, child," Breeze said, wagging a finger at him.

"All right," Spook said. He reached to the ground, scooping up a pile of ash. "Let's just rub this into your clothing and on your face. . . ."

Breeze froze . " I'll meet you back at the lair," he f inally said. Spook smiled, dropping the ash as he disappeared into the mists.

"I never did like him," Kelsier whispered.

Spook left the richer section of town, moving at a brisk pace. When he hit the streetslot, he didn't stop, but simply leaped off the side of the road and plummeted twenty feet.

His cloak flapped behind him as he fell. He landed easily and continued his quick pace. Without pewter, he would certainly have broken some limbs. Now he moved with the same dexterity he'd once envied in Vin and Kelsier. He felt exhilarated. With pewter f laring inside of him, he never f elt tired never even felt fatigued. Even simple acts, like walking down the street, made him feel full of grace and power.

He moved quickly to the Harrows, leaving behind the streets of better men, entering the cluttered, overpacked alley-like streetslot, knowing exactly where he'd find his quarry . Durn was one of the le ading f igures in the Urteau underworld. Part informant, part beggar lord, the unfulf illed musician had become a sort of a mayor of the Harrows. Men like that had to be where people could find and pay them.

Spook still remembered that first night after waking from his fevers a f ew weeks back, the night when he'd visited a tavern and heard men talking about him. Over the next few days, he'd visited several other taverns, and had heard others mention rumors that spoke of Spook. Sazed and Breeze's arrival had kept Spook from confronting Durn the apparent source of the rumors about what he'd been telling people. It was time to correct that oversight.

Spook picked up his pace, leap ing heaps of discarded boards, dashing around piles of ash, until he reached the hole that Durn called home. It was a section of canal wall that had been hollowed out to form a kind of cave. Though the wooden framing around the door looked as rotted and splintered as everything else in the Harrows, Spook knew it to be reinforced on the back with a thick oaken bar. Two brutes sat watch outside. They eyed Spook as he stopped in front of the door, cloak whipping around him. It was the same one he'd been wearing when he'd been tossed into the fire, and it was still spotted with burn marks and holes.

"The boss isn't seeing anyone right now, kid," said one of the big men, not rising from his seat. "Come back later."

Spook kicked the door. It broke free, its hinges snapping, the bar shattering its mountings and tumbling backward.

Spook stood for a moment, shocked. He had too little experience with pewter to gauge its use accurately. If he was shocked, however, the two brutes were stunned. They sat, staring at the broken door.

"You may need to kill them," Ke lsier whispered.

No,
Spook thought.
I just have to move quickl y.
He dashed into the open hallway, needing no torch or lantern by which to see. He whipped spectacles and a cloth out of his pocket as he approached the door at the end of the hallway, fixing them in plac e even as the guards called out behind him. He threw his shoulder against the door with a bit more care, slamming it open but not breaking it. He moved into a well-lit room where four men sat playing chips at a table. Durn was winning. Spook pointed at the men as he skidded to a stop. "You three. Out. Durn and I have business." Durn sat at the table, looking genuinely surprised. The brutes rushed up behind Spook, and he turned, falling to a crouch, reaching under his cloak for his dueling cane.

"It's all right," Durn said, standing. "Leave us."

The guards hesitated, obviously angry at being passed so easily. Finally, however, they withdrew, Durn's gambling partners going with them. The door closed. "That was quite the entrance," Durn noted, sitting back down at his table.

"You've been talking about me, Durn," Spook said, turning. "I've heard people discussing me in taverns, mentioning your name. You've been spreading rumors about my death, telling people that I was on the Survivor's crew . How did you know who I was, and why have you been using my name?"

"Oh, come now," Durn said, scowling. "How anonymous did you think you were? You're the Survivor's friend, and you spend a good half your time living in the emperor's own palace."

"Luthadel's a long way from here."

"Not so far that news doesn't travel," Durn said. "A Tineye comes to town, spying about, flaunting seemingly endless funds? It wasn't really that hard to figure out who you were. Besides, there's your eyes."

"What about them?" Spook asked.

The ugly man shrugged. "Everyone knows that strange things happen around the Survivor's crew." Spook wasn't certain what to make of that. He walked forward, looking over the cards on the table. He picked one up, feeling its paper. His heightened senses let him feel the bumps on the back.

"Marked cards ? " he asked.

"Of course," Durn said. "Practice game, to see if my men could read the patterns right." Spook tossed the card onto the table . "You still haven't told me why you've been spreading rumors about me."

"No offense, kid," Durn said. "B ut . . . well, you're supposed to be dead."

"If you believed that, then why bother talking about me ? "

"Why do you think? " Durn said. "The people love the Survivor and anything related to him. That's why Quellion uses his name so often. But, if I could show that Quellion killed one of Kelsier's own crew . . . well, there are a lot of people in this city who wouldn't like that."

"So, you're just trying to help," Spook said f latly. " Out of the goodness of your heart."

"You're not the only one who thinks that Quellion is killing this city. If you're really of the Survivor's crew, you'll know that sometimes, people fight." "I find it difficult to think of you as an altruist, Durn. You're a thief."

"So are you."

"We didn't know what we were getting into," Spook said. "Kelsier promised us riches . How do you gain f rom all this ? "

Durn snorted. "The Citizen is very bad for business. Venture red wine being sold for a fraction of a clip? Our smuggling has been choked to a trickle because everyone fears buying our goods. Things were
never
this bad under the Lord Ruler." He leaned in. "If your friends staying in the old Ministry building think they can do something about that lunatic running this city, then tell them they'll have my support. There isn't a large underground left in this city, but Quellion will be surprised at the damage it can do if manipulated the right way."

Spook stood quietly for a moment. "There's a man milking for information in the tavern on Westbrook Lane. Send someone to contact him. He's a Soother the best one you'll ever meet but he stands out a bit. Make your offer to him."

Durn nodded.

Spook turned to go, then glanced back at Durn. "Don't mention my name to him, or what happened to me ."

With that, he left through the hallway, passing the guards and the displaced crooks from the card game. Spook pulled off his blindfold as he stepped into the daylight-like brightness of the starlit night.

He strolled through the Harrows, trying to decide what he thought of the meeting. Durn hadn't revealed anything all
that
important. Yet, Spook felt as if something were happening around him, something he hadn't planned on, something he couldn't quite decipher. He was becoming more comfortable with Kelsier's voice, and with his pewter, but he was still worried that he wouldn't be able to live up to the position he'd fallen into.

"If you don't get to Quellion soon," Kelsier said, "he's going to f ind your friends . He's already preparing assassins."

"He won't send them," Spook said quietly. "Especially if he's heard Durn's rumors about me. Everyone knows that Sazed and Breeze were on your crew . Quellion won't take them out unless they prove to be such a threat that he has no other choice."

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"Quellion is an unstable man," Kelsier said. "Don't wait too long. You don't want to find out how irrational he can be ."

Spook fell silent. Then, he heard footsteps, approaching quickly. He felt the vibrations in the ground. He spun and loosened his cloak, reaching for his weapon. "You're not in danger," Kelsier said quietly. Spook relaxed as someone rushed around the alley corner. It was one of the men from Durn's chips game. The man was puff ing, his face flush with exhaustion. "My lord!" he said.

"I'm no lord," Spook said. "What happened? Is Durn in danger?"

"No, sir," the man said. "I just . . . I . . ."

Spook raised an eyebrow.

"I need your help," the man said between breaths. "When we realized who you were, you were already gone. I just . . ."

"Help with what?" Spook said tersely.

"My sister, sir," the man said. "She got taken by the Citizen. Our . . . father was a nobleman. Durn hid me, but Mailey, she got sold by the woman I'd left her with. Sir, she's only seven. He's going to burn her in a f ew days !"

Spook frowned. What does he expect me to do? He opened his mouth to ask that very question, but then stopped. He wasn't the same man anymore. He wasn't limited as the old Spook would have been. He could do something else.

What Kelsier would have done .

"Can you gather ten men?" Spook asked. "Friends of yours, willing to take part in some late-night work? "