The Alloy of Law: A Mistborn Novel (25 page)

Mister Suit sipped his tea. “Come now, Miles. You wore a mask on your face. You knew there was a chance he’d come.”

“I wore a mask,” Miles said, keeping his temper with some effort, “because I am a man of some renown. Wax wasn’t the only one who could have recognized me.”

“A valid point, I suppose. But then, with how dramatic you insist on being—cargo that vanishes, rather than just being stolen, it makes me wonder why you avoid being recognized.”

“The drama serves a purpose,” Miles snapped. “I’ve told you. So long as the police are baffled by how we’re getting the cargo, it will keep them making mistakes.”

“And the drama?” Suit said idly, turning over a newspaper on his desk. “The ‘Vanishers,’ Miles?”

He said nothing. He’d explained his reasons before, the ones he let Suit know of. There was more to it, of course. He needed to be dramatic, needed to capture the public’s attention. Miles was out to change the world. You couldn’t do that if people thought of you as common thieves. Mystery, power, a pinch of magic … that could work wonders for his cause.

“No comment,” Suit said. “Well, your reasoning has proven valid in the past. Except when it comes to Waxillium. I’ll admit, Miles, that part of me wonders. Is there some ancient grudge between the two of you I should be aware of? Something that, perhaps, would have caused you to act recklessly?” Mister Suit’s eyes were as cold as iron. “Something that would have made you try to
goad
him into attacking during that party? So you could fight him?”

Miles held that gaze, then leaned down, hands on the table, fingers gripping his cigar. “I have no grudge against Waxillium Ladrian. He is one of the finest men this world has known. A finer man than you or I, or practically anyone else in this city.”

“And this is supposed to comfort me? You all but say that you won’t fight him.”

“Oh, I’ll fight him. Kill him, if I have to. Wax chose the wrong side. Men like him, men like me, we have a choice. Serve the people or serve the wealthy. He abandoned his right to protection the moment he returned to this city and started mingling with them.”

“Curious,” Suit said. “I’m also one of
them,
you know.”

“I work with what I have. And besides, you have … other things recommending you. Especially since you did renounce your claim to privilege.”

“Not to privilege,” Suit said. “Merely to title. And I still think you intended to provoke Waxillium. That’s why you shot Peterus.”

“I shot Peterus because he was an impostor,” Miles snapped. “He pretended to seek justice, and everyone praised him for it, but all the while he was pandering to the elite and the corrupt. In the end, they let him come play at their parties, like a favored dog. I put him down.”

Mister Suit nodded slowly. “Very well.”

“I
will
clean this city up, Suit. Even if I have to rip out its blackened heart with my fingernails, I’ll do it. But you’re going to need to get me more aluminum.”

“I am setting things in motion,” Suit said. He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a rolled sheet of paper. He set it in front of Miles.

Miles took off the string and unrolled the paper. Schematics. “Tekiel’s new ‘unrobbable’ freight car?”

Suit nodded.

“It will take time to—” Miles began.

“I’ve had people working on this for some time now. Your job is not the planning, Miles. Your job is the execution. I will see that you have the resources you need.”

Miles looked over the blueprint. Suit was connected. Powerful. Miles couldn’t help feeling that he’d gotten himself entangled in something far beyond his control. “My men are still holding the latest captive,” he said. “What do you want done with her?”

“That will be arranged,” Suit said. He took a sip of his tea. “If I had been paying closer attention, I would have removed that one from the list. Waxillium will not stop seeking her. It would have been so much easier if the explosion had worked. Now we must contemplate more direct action.”

“I’ll deal with him personally,” Miles said. “Today.”

*   *   *

“Miles Dagouter is Twinborn,” Waxillium said, leaning forward in their train car. “A particularly dangerous variety of Twinborn.”

“Double gold,” Wayne said with a nod, reclining on the cushioned bench opposite Waxillium. Outside, the outer suburbs of Elendel passed in a blur.

Marasi sat on the bench near Wayne. “Gold Allomancers aren’t particularly dangerous, from what I’ve read.”

“No,” Waxillium said. “They aren’t. But it’s the Compounding that makes Miles so powerful. If your Allomancy and Feruchemy share a metal, you can access its power tenfold. It’s complicated. You store an attribute inside the metal, then
burn
it to release the power. It’s called Compounding. By the legends, it’s the way the Sliver gained immortality.”

Marasi frowned. “I’d assumed stories of Miles’s extraordinary healing abilities to be exaggerations. I assumed he was just a Bloodmaker, like Wayne.”

“Oh, he’s a Bloodmaker all right,” Wayne said, spinning a dueling cane around his wrist and catching it again. “Except
he
doesn’t ever run out of health.”

Waxillium nodded, thinking back to years ago, when he’d first met Miles. The man had always made him uncomfortable, but he’d also been an excellent lawkeeper. For the most part.

Noting Marasi’s confused look, Waxillium explained, “Normally a Feruchemist has to be sparing. It can take months to store up health or weight. I’ve been walking around at half weight since breaking us through the floor, trying to recover some of what I expended. I’ve barely filled my metalmind to a fraction of what I lost. It’s even harder for Wayne.”

Wayne wiped his nose. “I’ll have to spend a few weeks in bed after this, feeling wretched. Otherwise, I’ll be unable to heal myself. Hell, I’m already storing as much as I can and still move about normally. By the end of the day, I’ll barely have enough to heal a scratch.”

“But Miles…” Marasi said.

“Near-infinite healing ability,” Waxillium said. “The man’s virtually immortal. I heard he once took a shotgun blast to the face point-blank and walked away from it. We worked together out in the Roughs. He was the lawkeeper over in True Madil. There were three of us that had a kind of alliance going, during the good years. Miles, me, and Jon Deadfinger from Far Dorest.”

“Miles doesn’t like me much,” Wayne noted. “Well … neither of them do, actually.”

“Miles did good work,” Waxillium said. “But he was judgmental and harsh. We respected one another, though mostly from a distance. I wouldn’t call us friends. But out in the Roughs, anyone who stands up for what is right is an ally.”

“It’s the first law of the Roughs,” Wayne said. “The more alone you are, the more you need a man you can trust at your side.”

“Even if their methods go beyond what you’d choose yourself,” Waxillium said.

“He doesn’t sound like the type to take up a life of crime,” Marasi said.

“No,” Waxillium said softly. “He doesn’t. But I was almost certain it was him behind the mask at the wedding, and that box of cigars, they’re his favorites. I can’t be sure it’s him, but…”

“But you think it is.”

Waxillium nodded.
Harmony helps us, but I do.
Lawkeepers were a special alloy. There was a code. Never give in, never let yourself be tempted. Working with criminals day in, day out could change a man. You began to see things the way they did. You started to think like them.

They all knew this job could twist you if you weren’t careful. They didn’t speak of it, and they didn’t give in. Or they weren’t supposed to.

“I’m not surprised,” Wayne said. “Did you ever hear how he spoke of people in Elendel, Wax? He’s a brutal man, Miles is.”

“Yes,” Waxillium said softly. “I hoped he’d stay focused on keeping order in his town and let his demons slumber.”

The train passed beyond the suburbs, heading into the Outer Estates—the broad ring of orchards, fields, and pastures that fed Elendel. The landscape changed from city blocks to open expanses of tan and green, the canals shimmering blue as they cut the land.

“Does this change things?” Marasi asked.

“Yes,” Waxillium said. “It means all this is far more dangerous than I’d thought.”

“Delightful.”

Wayne grinned. “Well, we wanted you to have the full experience. You know, for science and all.”

“Actually,” Waxillium said, “I’ve been thinking of how best to send you someplace safe.”

“You want to be rid of me?” she asked. She widened her eyes to look heartbroken, her voice softening in a pitiful kind of betrayed way. He was half tempted to think she’d been learning from Wayne. “I thought I was being of help to you.”

“You are,” Waxillium said. “But you also have little practical experience in what we are doing.”

“A woman must gain experience somehow,” she said, lifting her head. “I’ve already survived a kidnapping and an assassination attempt.”

The doors of the passenger car rattled as they rounded a bend. “Yes, but Lady Marasi, the presence of a Twinborn on the other side changes things. If it comes to a fight, I don’t think I can defeat Miles. He’s crafty, powerful, and determined. I’d rather you were somewhere safe.”

“Where?” she asked. “Any of your estates would be obvious, as would those of my father. I can’t very well hide in the underground of the city; I
highly
doubt I’d be inconspicuous there! I hasten to suggest that the safest place for me is near you.”

“Odd,” Wayne said, “I usually find the safest places in life are everywhere
but
near Wax. Have I mentioned the likelihood of explosions?”

“Perhaps we should just go to the constables,” Marasi said. “Lord Waxillium … this kind of private investigation is technically illegal—at least insofar as we have important facts that the constables don’t. We are required to bring what we know to the authorities.”

“Don’t get him thinking!” Wayne said. “I was just starting to get him to stop saying stuff like that!”

“It’s all right, Wayne,” Waxillium said softly. “I’ve made a promise. I told Lord Harms I’d return Steris to him. And I will. That is that.”

“Then I will remain and help,” Marasi said. “That is that.”

“And I could really use some food,” Wayne added. “Fat is fat.”

“Wayne…” Waxillium said.

“I’m serious,” Wayne said. “Ain’t had nothing to eat since those scones.”

“We’ll get something at our stop,” Waxillium said. “First, I would like to know something from Lady Marasi.”

“Yes?”

“Well, assuming you are to remain with us, I’d like to know what kind of Allomancer you are.”

Wayne sat up with a start. “Huh?”

Marasi blushed.

“You carry a pouch of metal shavings in your handbag,” Waxillium said. “And you are always anxious to keep the handbag close. You know little about Feruchemy, but seem to understand Allomancy. You weren’t surprised when Wayne stopped time in a bubble around us—in fact, you stepped right up to the barrier, as if familiar with them. And you come from a hereditary line that is being hunted precisely because it includes a lot of Allomancers.”

“I…” she said. “Well, there really wasn’t a good opportunity…” She blushed more furiously.

“I’m surprised, and a little disappointed,” Wayne said.

“Well,” she said quickly, “I—”

“Oh, not at you,” Wayne said. “At Wax. I’d have expected that he’d put this sort of thing together on your first meeting.”

“I’m growing slow in my old age,” Waxillium said dryly.

“It’s not really very useful,” she said, looking down. “When I saw Wayne using his Slider ability, I started to get self-conscious. You see, I’m a Pulser.”

As he’d suspected. “I think that could be very useful.”

“Not really,” she said. “Speeding up time … that is amazing. But what can one do with slowing it down, and only for myself? It’s useless in a fight. Everyone else would move with great speed around me. My father was ashamed of the power. Told me to keep it quiet, much like my parentage.”

“Your father,” Waxillium said, “is someone that I’m increasingly certain is a fool. You have access to something useful. No, it won’t fit every situation, but no tool does.”

“If you say so,” she said.

A merchant came down the train aisle, selling pretzels, and Wayne all but leaped out of his chair to get one. Waxillium settled back, looking out the window, thinking.

Miles. No, he couldn’t be sure it was him. When Waxillium had shot the Vanisher boss in the face and dropped him, he’d assumed that he’d mistaken the voice. Miles wouldn’t drop to a gunshot.

Unless he’d known that he had to feign a wound, lest Waxillium recognize him. Miles was crafty enough for something like that.

It
is
him,
Waxillium thought. He’d known it from the first time the Vanisher boss had spoken. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it.

This complicated things immensely. And, oddly, Waxillium found himself feeling overwhelmed. Twenty years as a lawkeeper, and this situation was already messier than any he’d investigated. He’d assumed that the Roughs made him strong, but there’d also been a simplicity to life out there, a simplicity he’d gotten used to.

Now he came charging in, guns raised, assuming he could handle a problem built on Elendel’s scale. He assumed he could take down a team that was so well funded it could field men with guns made of something so expensive it might as well have been gold.

Maybe we should take it to the constables,
Marasi had said. But could he?

He fingered the earring in his pocket. He’d felt that Harmony wanted him to do this, to investigate. But what was Harmony but an impression in Waxillium’s mind? Confirmation bias, they called it. He felt what he expected to. That was what his logical brain said.

I wish I could feel the mists,
he thought.
It’s been weeks since I’ve been able to go out in them.
He always felt stronger in the mists. He felt like someone was watching, when he was out in them.