The Alloy of Law (Mistborn #4)(76)
“We will move you soon,” Suit said. “The Set is in the process of acquiring a railway station. You are still committed to the job tonight?”
“I am. We need more resources.”
“My colleagues question that,” Suit said. “They wonder why we went to so much trouble to outfit your men with aluminum, if it was only to be lost in a single fight without so much as killing one of the Allomancers who faced you.”
It’s important, Miles thought, because I intended to use that aluminum to finance my own operations. Now he was practically destitute, right back where he’d begun. Damn you, Wax. Damn you straight to Ironeyes’ Tomb.
“Do your colleagues question what I’ve done for them?” Miles said, drawing himself up. “Five of the women they wanted are in your possession, all without a speck of suspicion attached to you and the Set. If you wish that to continue, my men will be properly outfitted. A single Rioter could turn the entire bunch against one another.”
Suit eyed him. The slender old man did not walk with a cane, and his back was straight. He was not weak, despite his age and obvious fondness for fine living. The door to the lift opened. Two young men wearing black suits and white shirts walked out of it.
“The Set has agreed to this job tonight,” Suit said. “After it, you are to go to ground for six months and focus on recruitment. We will prepare another list of targets for you to acquire for us. When you return to activity, we will discuss whether or not the flamboyance of being the ‘Vanishers’ is required.”
“The theatrics keep the constables from—”
“We will discuss it then. Will Wax try to interfere tonight?”
“I’m counting on it,” Miles said. “If we try to hide, he’ll dig us out eventually. But it won’t come to that—he’ll figure out where we’re going to hit, and he’ll be there trying to stop us.”
“You are to kill him tonight, then,” Suit said, pointing to the two men. “The woman you took yesterday will remain here; use her as bait, if it comes to that. We don’t want to move her while that one has her trail. As for these two, they are to aid you in making certain everything goes smoothly.”
Miles gritted his teeth. “I don’t need help to—”
“You will take them,” Suit said coldly. “You’ve proven unreliable with regard to Waxillium. It is not open for discussion.”
“Fine.”
Suit stepped closer, tapping Miles on the chest and speaking softly. “The Set is anxious, Miles. Our monetary resources are very limited at the moment. You may rob the train, but don’t bother with hostages. We will take half of the aluminum you steal tonight to fund several operations you need not know about. You can have the rest for weapons.”
“Have your two men there ever fought Allomancers?”
“They are among our finest,” Suit said. “I think you’ll find them more than capable.”
They both knew what this was. Yes, the two would fight Wax, but they would also keep an eye on Miles. Great. More interference.
“I’m leaving the city,” Suit said. “Wax is getting too close. If you survive the night, send someone to update me.” He said that last part with a hint of a smile.
Insufferable bastard, Miles thought as Suit walked over to the lift, where a quartet of bodyguards waited. He was leaving on his regular train; he’d probably come back on his regular one too. He probably didn’t realize Miles had been tracking those.
Suit departed, leaving Miles with the two black-coated men. Well, he’d find some use for them.
He returned to the main chamber, followed by his new babysitters. The Vanishers—the thirty or so of them that remained—were getting ready for the job tonight. The Machine had been brought into the chamber via the far platform, which moved up to ground level in a large industrial lift, a majestic electrical wonder.
The world is changing, Miles thought, leaning down on the railing. First railways, now electricity. How long before men take to the skies, as the Words of Founding say is possible? The day might come where every man knew the freedom that had once been reserved only to Coinshots.
Change didn’t scare Miles. Change was an opportunity, a chance to become something you were not. No Augur was bothered by change.
Augur. He usually ignored that side of himself. His Feruchemy was what kept him alive—and these days he hardly noticed even that, save for the faint sense of extra energy to every step he took. He never got headaches, never felt tired, never had sore muscles, never dealt with colds or pain.
On a whim, he took hold of the banister and swung over, dropping to the floor some twenty feet below. For a brief moment, he knew that sense of freedom. Then he hit. One of his legs tried to break—he recognized the slight pop. But the bone’s fractures reknit as quickly as they broke, and so it never fully snapped, cracks opening on one side but resealing on the other.
He rose from a crouch, whole. The black-coated babysitters dropped beside him, one dropping a bit of metal and slowing a moment before he hit. A Coinshot. Well, that would be useful. The other surprised him, landing softly, but not dropping any metal. The ceiling had metal crossbeams. This man would be a Lurcher; he’d Pulled upon those beams to slow himself.
Miles strode through the room, inspecting the Vanishers as they prepared their gear. Every bit of aluminum they had left had gone for guns and bullets. They’d use those from the start this time. At the wedding-dinner fight, it had taken the men a few moments to switch weapons. Now they knew what to anticipate. Their numbers might be fewer, but they’d be much better prepared.