The Alloy of Law (Mistborn #4)(23)

He hesitated. What was he doing? He’d made his decision. Did he have to keep remaking it every few days?

“Marasi,” he said, forcing himself into conversation. “Your cousin tells me you’ve entered into university studies?”

“I’m in my final year,” she said.

He waited for a further reply, and didn’t get one.

“And how go your studies?”

“Well,” she said, and looked down, holding her napkin.

That was productive, he thought with a sigh. Fortunately, it looked like a server was approaching. The lean man began pouring wine for them. “The soup will be along presently,” he explained with a faint Terris accent, lofty vowels, and a slightly nasal tone.

The voice froze Waxillium stiff.

“Today’s soup,” the server continued, “is a delightfully seasoned prawn bisque with a hint of pepper. You shall find it quite enjoyable, I think.” He glanced at Waxillium, eyes twinkling in amusement. Though he wore a false nose and a wig, those were Wayne’s eyes.

Waxillium groaned softly.

“My lord doesn’t like prawns?” Wayne asked with horror.

“The bisque is quite good,” Lord Harms said. “I’ve had it at a Yomen party before.”

“It’s not the soup,” Waxillium said. “I’ve just recalled something I forgot to do.” It involves strangling someone.

“I shall return shortly with your soup, my lords and ladies,” Wayne promised. He even had a fake line of Terris earrings in his ears. Of course, Wayne was part Terris, as was Waxillium himself—as evidenced by their Feruchemical abilities. That was rare in the population; though nearly a fifth of the Originators had been Terris, they weren’t prone to marrying other ethnicities.

“Does that server look familiar?” Marasi asked, turning and watching him go.

“He must have served us last time we were here,” Lord Harms said.

“But I wasn’t with you last—”

“Lord Harms,” Waxillium jumped in, “has anything been heard of your relative? The one who was kidnapped by the Vanishers?”

“No,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “Ruin those thieves. This kind of thing is absolutely unacceptable. They should confine such behavior to the Roughs!”

“Yes,” Steris said, “it does somewhat undermine one’s respect for the constabulary when things like this occur. And the robbery inside the city! How terrible.”



“What was it like?” Marasi suddenly asked. “Lord Ladrian? Living where there was no law?” She seemed genuinely curious, though her comment earned a glare from Lord Harms, likely for bringing up Waxillium’s past.

“It was difficult sometimes,” Waxillium admitted. “Out there, some people just believe they can take what they want. It would actually surprise them when someone stood up to them. As if I were some spoiler, the only one who didn’t understand the game they were all playing.”

“Game?” Lord Harms said, frowning.

“A figure of speech, Lord Harms,” Waxillium said. “You see, they all seemed to think that if you were skilled or well armed, you could take whatever you want. I was both, and yet instead of taking, I stopped them. They found it baffling.”

“It was very brave of you,” Marasi said.

He shrugged. “It wasn’t bravery, honestly. I just kind of fell into things.”

“Even stopping the Surefires?”

“They were a special case. I—” He froze. “How did you know about that?”

“Reports trickle in,” Marasi said, blushing. “From the Roughs. Most of them get written up by someone. You can find them at the university or at the right bookshop.”

“Oh.” Uncomfortable, he picked up his cup and drank some wine.

As he did, something slipped into his mouth. He nearly spat out the entire mouthful in surprise. He contained himself. Barely.

Wayne, I really am going to throttle you. He moved the object into his hand, covering the act with a cough.

“Well,” Steris said, “hopefully the constables will soon deal with these ruffians and we can return to peace and law.”

“Actually,” Marasi said, “I don’t think that’s likely.”

“Child,” Lord Harms said sternly. “That’s quite enough.”

“I’d like to hear what she has to say, my lord,” Waxillium said. “For the sake of conversation.”

“Well … all right … I suppose.”

“It’s simply a theory I had,” Marasi said, blushing. “Lord Ladrian, when you were lawkeeper in Weathering, what was the population of the city?”

He fingered the item in his hand. A spent bullet casing that had been capped with a dab of wax. “Well, it started to grow rapidly in the last few years. But for most of the time, I’d say it was around fifteen hundred.”

“And the surrounding area?” she asked. “All the places you’d patrol, but didn’t have their own lawkeepers?”

“Maybe three thousand total,” Waxillium said. “Depending. There are a lot of transients out in the Roughs. People looking to find a mineral claim or to start up a farmstead. Workers moving from place to place.”