The Alloy of Law (Mistborn #4)(45)

“So, son,” Wayne said. “You’re in a heap of trouble.”

The bandit didn’t reply.

“I can get you off easy. No hangman’s noose for you, if you are willing to be smart.”

The bandit spat at him.

Wayne leaned in, hands on the table. “Here now,” he said very softly, changing his speech to the natural, fluid accent that the bandits had been using. A cup of canal worker for authenticity, a healthy dose of bartender for trust, and the rest Sixth Octant, north side, where most had sounded like they’d come from. “Is that the way to speak to the bloke who killed a conner and took his uniform, all to get you outta here, mate?”

The bandit’s eyes opened wide.

“Don’t do that, now,” Wayne said softly. “You’re looking too eager. That’ll make ’em suspicious. Damn it all. You’re gonna have to spit on me again.”

The man hesitated.

“Do it!”

He spat.

“Ruination!” Wayne bellowed, swapping back to the constable accent. He pounded the table. “I’ll tear your ears off, boy, if you do that again.”

The bandit looked at him. “Er … should I?”

Ah, good. Got the right neighborhood. “Like hell,” Wayne hissed. “I really will rip yer ears off if you do.” He leaned in, speaking in the street-tough accent, low enough so those outside couldn’t hear. “The conners say you haven’t talked. Good job on that. The boss’ll be pleased.”

“You’re gonna get me out?”

“What do you think? Can’t leave you to sing. It’s either get you out or see you shaking hands with Ironeyes.”

“I won’t talk,” the man said urgently. “No need to kill me. I won’t talk.”

“And the others?”

The man hesitated. “I don’t think they will either. Except maybe Sindren. He’s new, and all.”

Good, Wayne thought. “Sindren. Blond fellow, with the scar?”

“No. He’s the short guy. Big ears.” The robber squinted at Wayne. “Why don’t I recognize you?”

“Why do you think?” Wayne said, standing back and resuming his constable voice. “Now, no more griping! Where is your base of operations? Where are you men working from? I want answers!” He leaned in again. “You don’t recognize me because I’m too valuable to be seen by the common men. They might give me away. I work with your boss. Tarson.”

“Tarson? He’s not boss of anything. He just hits stuff.”

Also good. “I meant his boss.”

The bandit frowned. He was growing more suspicious.

“Your attitude is going to get you hanged, mate,” Wayne said softly. “Who recruited you? I want to … speak with him.”

“Who … Clamps does all the recruitment. You should know that.” His eyes grew hostile.

Excellent, Wayne thought. “Done!” he said, turning around. “This one won’t talk. Closed-mouthed git.” He walked out of the room to join Brettin and the others.

“Why were you whispering so much?” Brettin demanded. “You said we could listen.”

“I said you could listen,” Wayne said, “but not that I’d say anything you could hear. You’ve got to speak low and threateningly with these types. Have any of the men given you names, yet?”

“Aliases,” Brettin said, dissatisfied.

“Any of them give the name Sindren?”

Brettin looked at his men. They shook their heads.

Excellent. “I want to see the other men. I’m going to pick which one to interview next.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Brettin said.

“And I can still march on home and start up paperwork for a transfer…”

Brettin stewed for a moment, then led Wayne to the cells. Sindren was easy to pick out. The large-eared man looked young; he was wide-eyed as he watched the conners look into his cell.

“Him,” Wayne said. “Let’s go.”

They grabbed him and brought him to an interrogation room. Once Sindren was chained down, Brettin and his men waited in the room.

“A little space to breathe, please,” Wayne said, glaring at them.

“Fine,” Brettin said. “But no more whispering. I want to hear what you have to ask him. He is still our prisoner.”

Wayne glared at them, and they shuffled out, but left the door open. Brettin stood outside with his arms folded, looking at Wayne expectantly.

All right then, Wayne thought. He turned to the captive and leaned in. “Hello, Sindren.”

The boy actually jumped. “How do you—”

“Clamps sent me,” Wayne said softly in a street-tough accent. “I’m working on a way to get you out. I need you to remain perfectly still.”

“But—”

“Still. Don’t move.”

“No whispering!” Brettin called in. “If you say—”

Wayne put up a speed bubble. It wasn’t going to last long; he hadn’t been able to scrounge up much bendalloy. He’d have to make it work.

“I’m an Allomancer,” Wayne said, holding perfectly still. “I’ve sped up time for us. If you move, they’ll notice the blur and know what happened. Do you understand? Don’t nod yes. Just say so.”