Shadows of Self (Mistborn #5)(53)

“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 two-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.”