Shadows of Self (Mistborn #5)(42)

“I … Yes, I am.”

“I heard voices in my head once too, you know.”

“You did?”

“Sure. Gave me a fright. I banged my head against the wall until I went unconscious. Never heard them again! Ha. Showed ’em good, I did. If rats move in, best thing to do is to burn the nest and send ’em packing.”

“And the nest … was your head.”

“Yup.”

The sad thing was, Wayne probably wasn’t lying. Being unkillable, so long as one had some healing power stored up, could do strange things to a person’s sense of self-preservation. Of course, Wayne had probably been drunk at the time. That also tended to do strange things to a person’s sense of self-preservation.

“Well, anyway,” Wayne said. “We’re almost to the precinct headquarters. Time to go back to being dirty conners. At least they’ll probably have scones inside.”

*

Marasi stood in the precinct station with arms folded, partially to hide the fact that her hands were still trembling. That was unfair. She’d been in firefights numerous times now. She should be accustomed to this … but still, after the jolt of it all wore off—the moment of thrill and action—she occasionally found herself feeling drained. Surely she’d get past it eventually.

“He was wearing these, sir,” Reddi said, placing a pair of bracers onto the table with a thump. “No other metal on his body save for the gun and a pocketful of rounds. We’ve called in the First Octant precinct’s Leecher to make sure he doesn’t have any metal swallowed, but we can’t be certain until she arrives.”

Aradel picked up one of the bracers, turning it over in his hands. The dim room was a kind of balcony, overlooking the interrogation chamber below, where the assassin Marasi had stopped sat slumped in a chair. His name was Rian; no house, though they’d located his family. He was tied with ropes to a large stone behind his chair. No metal in the room, to make it safe to stow Coinshots or Lurchers. Stone floor, walls made of thick wood joined with wooden pegs. Almost primitive in feel. The balcony had glass walls, letting them look down upon him without being heard.

“So he’s Metalborn,” said Lieutenant Caberel, the only other person in the room. The stout woman picked up the other bracer. “Why didn’t he use his abilities in the assassination? If he killed Winsting with Feruchemical speed, like old Waxillium Dawnshot says, he should have done the same today.”

“Maybe he didn’t kill Winsting,” Aradel said. “The attacks could be unrelated.”

“He fits the profile though, sir,” Reddi said. “Winsting’s bodyguards probably would have trusted a member of the governor’s personal guard. He could have talked his way past them and done the deed.”

“Hard to imagine Winsting’s guards letting even someone like that in alone with their charge, Captain,” Aradel said. “After a firefight where others were being killed? They’d be tense. Suspicious.”

Down below, the suspect began rocking back and forth on his seat. The vents that would allow them to listen in on him were closed, but she had a sense that he was muttering to himself again.

“So, we just ask him,” Caberel said.

“Again?” Reddi said. “You heard before. All he does is mumble.”

“Then encourage him,” Caberel said. “You’re pretty good at that, Reddi.”

“I suppose his face could use a few new bruises,” Reddi said.

“You know you can’t do that,” Marasi said from beside the window.

Reddi looked at her. “Don’t quote statistics at me, Colms. I’ve found I can make a man speak the truth, no matter what you claim.”

“It isn’t statistics this time,” Marasi said. “If you actively torture that man, you’ll ruin him for prosecution. His attorneys will get him off for sure.”

Reddi gave her a scowl.

“So send for his daughter,” Caberel said, glancing over the fact sheet they had on the man. “We threaten her in front of him, but don’t do anything to harm her. He’ll talk.”

Marasi rubbed her forehead. “That’s specifically illegal, Caberel. Do you people know nothing about Article Eighty-Nine? He has rights.”

“He’s a criminal,” Reddi said.

“He’s a suspected criminal.” Marasi sighed. “You can’t continue to act as you have in the past, Reddi. New laws are in place. They’re only going to get stricter, and the defense attorneys are increasingly clever.”

“The solicitors have sold out to the other side,” Caberel said with a nod. “She’s right.”

Marasi remained silent on that score. Of course it wasn’t really a matter of selling out at all—but she’d settle for the constables learning to follow the rules, regardless of the reasoning.

“I think,” Reddi said, “that it’s unfortunate we’ve got someone among us who seems to be more on the solicitors’ side than on the side of justice. She knows more about their ways than ours.”

“Perhaps she does,” Aradel said in a soft, stern voice. “And one might consider that to be exactly why I brought her in among us, Captain Reddi. Colms knows contemporary legal codes. If you paid more attention to the very laws you are sworn to uphold, perhaps Daughnin wouldn’t have gotten back on the street last month.”