Authors: Brandon Sanderson
“What was that about?” Wax said.
“He’s been cheating on her,” Steris said absently. “Naturally, the topic makes him uncomfortable.”
“Nice work,” Wax said. “You’re very good at this.”
“I’m proficient at it.”
“I believe that’s what I said.”
“There is a distinction,” Steris said with a shake of her head. “In this room there are true masters of social interaction. I am not one of them. I studied social norms, researched them, and now I execute them. Another woman might have sailed through that conversation and left him happy, but distracted. I had to use blunt force, so to speak.”
“You are a bizarre woman, Steris.”
“Says the only man in the room with guns on his hips,” she replied, “a man who is unconsciously trying to Push the earrings out of the ears of every woman we pass. You didn’t notice Lady Remin losing her ring into her drink, did you?”
“Missed that.”
“Pity. It was entertaining. Here, step this way; we don’t want to get into a conversation with Lord Bookers. He is dreadfully boring.”
Wax followed her down three steps, passing a display shining with nuggets of tin that rattled at his passing, alongside pictures of famous Tineyes, including several sketches of the Lord Mistborn—who had been a Tineye before the Catacendre.
Funny, that Steris would remark on someone being boring.…
“You’re thinking,” Steris said, “that it is ironic that I would note that someone is a bore—as I myself have a reputation for the same personality flaw.”
“I would not have phrased it like that.”
“It’s all right,” Steris said. “As I have said many times before, I am aware of my reputation. I must embrace my nature. I recognize another bore as you might recognize a master Allomancer—as a colleague whose arts I don’t particularly wish to sample.”
Wax found himself smiling.
“As a side note,” Steris said softly as she steered them toward where the governor was speaking with the lord of House Erikell, “if you do find the murderer, steer me in her direction. I shall endeavor to fascinate her with details of our house finances. With luck, she’ll fall asleep in her drink and drown, and I shall have my first kill.”
“Steris! That was actually amusing.”
She blushed. Then she got a conspiratorial look on her face. “I cheated, if you must know.”
“… Cheated?”
“I know you enjoy witty conversation,” she said, “so I prepared earlier, writing myself a list of things I could say that you would find engaging.”
Wax laughed. “You have plans for everything, don’t you?”
“I like to be thorough,” she said. “Though admittedly, sometimes I can be
so
thorough that I end up needing to plan how to best make my plans. My life ends up feeling like a beautiful ship in dry dock, built with eighteen rudders pointing in different directions to be
extra
certain that a steering mechanism is in place.” She hesitated, then blushed again. “Yes. That quip was on my list.”
Wax laughed anyway. “Steris, I think this is the most genuine I’ve ever seen you.”
“But I’m being fake. I prepared the lines ahead of time. I’m not
actually
being diverting.”
“You’d be surprised at how many people do the same thing,” Wax said. “Besides, this
is
you. So it’s genuine.”
“Then I’m always genuine.”
“I guess so. I just didn’t realize it before.”
They stepped toward Innate, putting them close enough that the governor would notice them waiting. Nearby, other couples and groups shot them covert looks. As the lord of a major house, Wax outranked almost everyone in the room. Old noble titles were coming to matter less and less, but with Steris’s money backing him, he’d been able to dig himself out of many of his debts. That in turn had allowed him to avoid foreclosures, and he’d been able to hold out until other investments came through. House Ladrian was again one of the wealthiest in the city. Increasingly, that was more important than a noble pedigree.
He found it unfortunate, though not surprising, how often noble birth aligned with economic and political power. The Lord Mistborn’s laws, based upon the Last Emperor’s ideal, were supposed to put power into the hands of common men. And yet the same groups just kept on ruling. Wax was one of them. How guilty should he feel?
Already I fear that I have made things too easy for men.…
Drim, the governor’s chief bodyguard and head of security, stepped up to Wax. “I suppose you’ll be next,” the thick-necked man growled. “My men at the doors let you keep your guns, I hear.”
“Let me tell you, Drim,” Wax said, “if the governor is in the slightest bit of danger, you
want
a gun in my hands.”
“I suppose. A gun doesn’t mean much to you anyway, does it? You could kill with the spare change in your pocket.”
“Or a pair of cuff links. Or the tacks holding the carpet to the floor.”
Drim grunted. “Too bad about your deputy.”
Wax snapped his attention on Drim. “Wayne. What about him?”
“He’s a security threat,” Drim said. “Had to turn him away down below.”
Wax relaxed. “Oh. All right, then.”
Drim smiled, obviously feeling he’d won something from the conversation. He backed up to take his place by the wall, watching those who came to speak with the governor.
“You’re not concerned about Wayne?” Steris asked softly.
“Not anymore. I worried he’d find the party so boring, he would wander off. Instead, the good man there kindly gave Wayne a challenge.”
“So … you’re saying he’ll sneak in?”
“If Wayne isn’t in here somewhere already,” Wax said, “I’ll eat your handbag and try to burn it for Allomantic power.”
They continued to wait. The governor’s current interlocutor, Lady Shayna, was a long-winded blowhard, but after the political and financial support she’d given him, even the governor couldn’t turn her away. Wax looked around, wondering where Wayne would be.
“Lord Waxillium Ladrian,” a feminine voice said. “I’ve heard about you. You’re more handsome than the stories say.”
He raised his eyebrows toward the speaker, a tall woman waiting to see the governor. Very tall—she had a few inches on him at least. With luscious lips and a large chest, she had creamy skin and hair the color of gunpowder, and she was wearing a red dress missing most of its top half.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Steris said, her voice cool.
“I’m called Milan,” the woman said. She didn’t bother to look at Steris, but inspected Wax up and down, then smiled in a mysterious way. “Lord Waxillium, you wear sidearms and a Roughs-style mistcoat to a cocktail party. Bold.”
“There is nothing bold about doing what one has always done,” Wax said.
Flirting with a man while his fiancée stands beside him, however …
“You have an interesting reputation,” Milan continued. “Are the things they say about you true?”
“Yes.”
She pursed her lips, smiling, expecting more. Instead, he met her eyes and waited. She shuffled, moving her cup from one hand to another, then excused herself, walking off.
“Wow,” Steris said. “And they say
I
can make people uncomfortable.”
“You learn the stare early,” Wax said, returning his attention to the governor. In the back of his mind, he assessed the woman Milan and decided to keep an eye on her. Had that been Bleeder in disguise, trying to feel him out? Or had it been just another foolish partygoer with a bit too much wine in her and an inflated opinion of how men would respond to her?
Rusts, this is going to be tough.
* * *
Wayne sauntered about the party, his tiny dining plate stacked with food as high as he could get it. Why did they always use such tiny plates at fancy parties? To keep people from eating too much? Rusts. Rich folk didn’t make sense. They gave away the most expensive booze in the city, then worried about people eating all of the little sausages?
Wayne was a rebel. He refused to play by their rules, yes he did. He quickly laid out a battle plan. The ladies with the little sausages came out from behind the east bar, while the west bar was preparing the salmon crackers. Tiny sandwiches to the north, and desserts of various sorts to the south. If he made a round of the penthouse room in exactly thirteen minutes, he could hit each station just as the servants were entering with fresh platters.
They were starting to give him glares. A fellow knew he was doing his job right when he got those kinds of glares.
Marasi stayed nearby, playing the part of Professor Hanlanaze’s assistant. Wayne scratched at his beard. He didn’t like beards, but Marasi said the few evanotype pictures of Professor Hanlanaze showed him wearing one. Hanlanaze was far thicker at the waist than Wayne was too. That was great. You could hide all kinds of stuff in padding like that.
“I still can’t believe you had all of this in the carriage,” Marasi whispered, then she stole one of his sausages. Right off his plate. Outrageous!
“My dear woman,” Wayne said, scratching his head, where he wore a colorful Terris cap, a proud emblem of Hanlanaze’s lineage. “Being a qualified academic depends, before anything else, upon suitable preparation. I would no sooner leave my home without appropriate equipment for every eventuality than I would work in my lab without proper safety precautions!”
“It’s the voice that truly
makes
the disguise, you know,” Marasi said. “How do you do it?”
“Our accents are clothing for our thoughts, my dear,” Wayne said. “Without them, everything we say would be stripped bare, and we might as well be screaming at one another. Oh look. The dessert lady has chocolate pastries again! I
do
find those irresistible.”
He stepped toward them, but a comment cut him off. “Professor Hanlanaze?”
Wayne froze.
“Why, it
is
you!” the voice said. “I didn’t believe you’d actually come.” A tall man approached, wearing so much plaid that you could have strung him up on a pole and made a war banner out of him.
On one hand Wayne was pleased. He’d only had Marasi’s description of Hanlanaze to go on in creating his disguise, so the fact that he fooled someone who had obviously seen the professor’s picture was impressive.
On the other hand … damn.
Wayne handed Marasi his plate, giving her a stern glare that said “Don’t eat these.” Then he took the newcomer’s hand. That suit’s fabric really was something. The mill that made it must have used up an entire year’s quota of stripes.
“And you are?” Wayne asked, pinching his voice. He’d found that big men like Professor Hanlanaze often had voices that sounded smaller than the person was. He was glad he’d been studying southern accents. Of course he also injected some of a university accent into it, and set both on a base of Thermolian “v” sounds, from the outer village where the professor had grown up.
Getting a good accent was like mixing a paint to match one already on a wall. If you didn’t blend just right, the flaws could look much worse than if you’d chosen a different color entirely.
“I’m Rame Maldor,” the man said, shaking Wayne’s hand. “You know … the paper on the Higgens effect?”
“Ah yes,” Wayne said, releasing the hand and stepping back. He gave a good impression of being nervous around so many people, and it sold better than two-penny drinks the day after Truefast. Indeed, Maldor was perfectly willing to give the supposed recluse plenty of space.
That let Wayne speed up time around him and Marasi only.
“What in Harmony’s wrists is he talking about?” Wayne hissed.
From her bag, Marasi retrieved the book that she’d purchased at a nearby shop while Wayne was getting into his costume. She soon found the page she wanted. “The Higgens effect. Has to do with the way a spectral field is influenced by magnets.” She flipped a few pages. “Here, try this.…” She rattled off some gibberish to Wayne, who nodded and dropped the speed bubble.
“The Higgens effect is old news!” Wayne said. “I’m much more interested in the way that a static
electric
field produces similar results. Why, you should
see
the work we are near to completing!”
Rame got pale in the face. “But … But … I was going to study that effect myself!”
“Then you’re behind by at least three years!”
“Why didn’t you mention this in our letters?”
“And reveal my next discovery?” Wayne said.
Rame stumbled away, then dashed for the lift. Wayne had never seen a scientist move so quickly. You’d have thought someone was handing out free lab coats in the lobby.
“Oh dear,” Marasi said. “You realize the chaos this might cause in their field?”
“Yup,” Wayne said, taking his plate of food back. “It will be good for them. It’ll stop them from sittin’ around and thinkin’ so much.”
“Wayne, they’re scientists. Isn’t that their
job
?”
“Hell if I know,” Wayne said, stuffing a little sausage in his mouth. “But rusts, if it is, that would explain
so much
.”
* * *
Governor Innate finished his conversation and turned toward Wax. Drim, the bodyguard, waved them forward. He didn’t like Wax, but from what Wax knew of the man, Drim was solid, loyal and dependable. He understood that Wax wasn’t a threat.
Unfortunately, Drim didn’t know the threat they
were
facing. A kandra … it could be anyone. Wax wouldn’t have been so trusting.
Wouldn’t I?
he thought, shaking the governor’s hand.
What if the kandra is Drim? Have I considered that?
That was how Bleeder had gotten in to kill Lord Winsting, after all. She had been wearing the face of someone Winsting’s men trusted.
Rusting iron on a hillside,
Wax thought.
This is going to be very, very hard.
“Lord Waxillium?” Innate asked. “Are you well?”
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Wax said. “My thoughts were called away for a moment. How is Lady Innate?”
“She had a moment of passing nausea,” the governor said, kissing Steris’s hand. “And went home to lie down. I will tell her you asked after her. Lady Harms, you look lovely this evening.”