“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 tw
o-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.”
“And you are ever a gentleman,” Steris replied, giving him a genuine smile. Steris liked the governor, though politically they were opposites—Steris calculatedly progressive, as she figured would be expected of new money looking to advance, while Innate was conservative. But that sort of thing didn’t bother Steris. She liked people whose motives made sense, and she felt Innate’s political record was orderly. “I hope Lady Allri will recover soon.”
“It is an ailment of nerves more than anything else,” Innate said. “She did not react well to what happened today.”
“You seem to be doing remarkably,” Wax said. “All things considered.”
“The would-be assassin was one of our newer guards, and was mentally unhinged. He had terrible aim, and likely didn’t even actually intend to kill me.” The governor chuckled. “Would that the Survivor would always send such enemies to me, and often around election season.”
Wax cracked a forced smile, then glanced to the side. That woman from before, the pretty one with the large eyes, stood nearby. Who else was suspiciously near?
Bleeder won’t be someone I can spot easily, Wax thought. The Faceless Immortals have centuries of practice blending into human society.
“What is your take on it, Lord Waxillium?” Innate asked. “What were the man’s motives?”
“He was provoked to the attack,” Wax said. “It was a distraction. Someone else killed your brother; they will try again for you.”
Nearby, Drim stood up straight, glancing at him.
“Curious,” Innate said. “But you’re known for jumping at shadows, are you not?”
“Every lawman follows a bum lead on occasion.”
“I believe you’ll find Lord Waxillium to be right far more often than he is wrong, my lord,” Steris said. “If he warns of danger, I would listen.”
“I will,” Innate said.
“I want to meet with you,” Wax said, “so we can discuss important matters. Tomorrow at the latest. You need to hear what we’re dealing with.”
“I will schedule it.” From Innate, that was a promise. Wax would have his meeting. “Lady Harms, might I ask after your cousin? I’ve yet to thank her for what she did today, even if the man’s aim was off, and I would have been safe anyway.”
“Marasi is well,” Steris said. “She should be coming up here tonight to—”
Look at them.
The thought forced its way into Wax’s head. Steris and the governor continued to speak, but he froze.
They dress in painted sequins. They drink wine. They laugh, and smile, and play, and dance, and eat, and quietly kill. All part of Harmony’s plan. All actors on a stage. That’s what you are too, Waxillium Ladrian. It’s what all men are.
A chill moved over Wax, like ants running across his skin. The thoughts in his head were a voice, like Harmony’s, but rasping and crude. Brutal. A terrible whisper.
Wax was still wearing his earring. Bleeder had found out how to communicate with someone wearing a Hemalurgic spike.
The murderer was in his head.
10
Wayne turned as the sausage lady passed. He intended to reach for another handful. Instead he got slapped.
He blinked, at first assuming that the servers had finally gotten tired of him outthinking them. But the slapper hadn’t been one of them. It was a child. He fixed his stare on the young girl as Marasi hurried back to his side. Why, this child couldn’t be more than fifteen. And she’d slapped him!
“You,” the girl said, “are a monster.”
“I—”
“Remmingtel Tarcsel!” the girl said. “Do you think anyone in this party has heard that name before?”
“Well—”
“No, they haven’t. I’ve asked. They all stand here using my father’s incandescent lights—which he toiled for years to create—and nobody knows his name. Do you know why, Mister Hanlanaze?”
“I suspect I don’t—”
“Because you stole his designs, and with them his life. My father died clipless, destitute and depressed, because of men like you. You aren’t a scientist, Mister Hanlanaze, whatever you claim. You’re not an inventor. You’re a thief.”
“That part’s right. I—”
“I’ll have the better of you,” the girl hissed, stepping up to him and poking him right in the gut, almost where he’d hidden his dueling canes. “I have plans. And unlike my father, I know that this world isn’t just about who has the best ideas. It’s about the people who can market those ideas. I’m going to find investors and change this city. And when you’re crying, destitute and discredited, you remember my father’s name and what you did.”
She spun on her heel—long, straight blonde hair slapping him in the face—and stalked away.
“What the hell was that?” Wayne whispered.
“The price of wearing someone else’s likeness, I guess,” Marasi said. Rusting woman sounded amused!
“Her daddy,” Wayne said. “She said … I killed her daddy…”
“Yeah. Sounds like Hanlanaze has some dirt in his past.”
Hanlanaze. Right. Hanlanaze. The professor.
“I’ve read broadsheet columns by that girl,” Marasi said. “It�
��s a real shame, if it’s true those inventions were stolen.”
“Yeah,” Wayne said, rubbing his cheek. “Shame.” He eyed the plate of little sausages as it passed, but couldn’t find the will to chase it down. The fun was gone, for some reason.
Instead he went looking for Wax.
* * *
“Excuse me,” Wax said to the governor and Steris.
Both turned astonished eyes on him as he walked away. A rude move. He didn’t let himself care. He stepped into the center of the room, instincts screaming at him.
Guns out!
Firefight coming!
Find cover!
Run.
He did none of those things, but he couldn’t keep his eye from twitching. With his steel burning, a spray of small, translucent blue lines connected him to nearby sources of metal. He was in the habit of ignoring those.
Now he watched them. Quivering, shifting, the rhythm and pulse of a hundred people in a room. Trays for food, jewelry, spectacles. Metal parts in the tables and chairs. So much metal that made the framework for the lives of men and women. They were the flesh of civilization, and steel was now its skeleton.
So, you realize what I am, the voice said in his mind. Feminine, but rasping.
No, what are you? Wax sent back. A test.
Harmony spoke to you. I know that he did.
You’re a koloss, Wax said, using the wrong word on purpose.
You dance for Harmony, the voice replied. You bend and move at his direction. You don’t care how poor an excuse for a god he is.
Wax wasn’t certain—there was no way to be certain—but it seemed that Bleeder couldn’t read his mind. The kandra could only send out thoughts. What was it Harmony had said? That hearing thoughts had come from Preservation, but inserting them from Ruin?
Wax turned slowly about the room, watching those lines. Bleeder wouldn’t have any metal on her. People who were metallically aware were more careful about things like that. The governor’s guards, for example. Half of them carried guns, but the other half only dueling canes.
How do you stand it, Wax? Bleeder asked. Dwelling among them. Like living up to your knees in sewage.
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