فصل 10

10

Wax started awake to the sound of distant explosions.

He immediately scrambled to his feet, reaching for his metals, bleary-eyed and disoriented. Where was he? Crew cabin of the cargo train. It was large, with some stiff couches in the back for the engineers to catch a nap while their train was waiting to be unloaded. Steris was asleep on one, wrapped in his jacket. Wayne dozed in the corner, hat over his face.

They’d left the servants behind for now; they would come along on the next passenger train. MeLaan had chosen to ride in the back with their luggage—she had wanted to look through her bundles of bones to pick the right body for the night.

Wax downed metals and whipped out Vindication, stumbling forward toward the sounds—which, now fully awake, he wasn’t certain were explosions at all. A continuous rumble, like an earthquake, off in the distance. He stepped out into the cab proper of the engine car. This was a newer machine, one of the oil-driven ones, with no need for a coal tender.

Marasi stood near the front with the engineer, a tall fellow with bright eyes and forearms like pistons.

That rumbling … Wax frowned, lowering his gun as Marasi glanced at him. The sky was bright blue; morning had arrived. He stepped into the cabin, and could see that ahead, New Seran rose before them. The city spread across a series of enormous, flat-topped stone terraces. There were at least a dozen of them, and each was split by multiple streams, which crossed them and then dropped off the edge down to the next terrace. The sound wasn’t an earthquake or explosion, but that of waterfalls.

In places, the drop was just a little ripple—a fall of some five feet or so. But in others, majestic waterfalls plunged fifty feet or more before pounding onto the next stone platform. It looked like a man-made effect, for the various split streams and waterfalls eventually ran back together into the river, which flowed away from the city toward distant Elendel.

Wax slid Vindication into her holster, though it took two tries because he was so mesmerized by the waterfalls. Indeed, the whole city. Buildings sprouted between the rivers, and vibrant green vines draped the cliffs like nature’s own tresses. Beyond, the Seran mountains rose, lofty and whited at the tops.

Marasi grinned, leaning out of the cab to get a better look up at the heights of the city. The engineer stood by his levers, valves, and cranks trying to act casual, though he was obviously watching Wax and Marasi for their reactions.

“I often think,” the man eventually said, “that Harmony was showing off a little when He made this place.” “I had no idea this was here,” Wax said, stepping up beside Marasi. Behind him, Wayne yawned and stumbled to his feet.

“Yeah, well,” the engineer said, “people from Elendel often forget there’s a whole country out here. No offense, my lord. There’s a lot of Elendel to take in, so it makes sense you’d get a little blinded by it.” “You’re from New Seran?” Marasi asked.

“Born and raised, Captain Colms.”

“Then you can tell us where to find our hotel, perhaps?” Marasi asked. “The Copper Gate?” “Oh, that’s a nice one,” the engineer said, pointing. “Top terrace, in the waterman district. Look for the big statue of the Lord Mistborn. It’s not two blocks from there.” “How close can you get us?” Marasi asked.

“Not close at all, I’m afraid,” the engineer said. “We’re not a passenger train, and even those can only go to the middle tiers. We’ll be down at the bottom. It’ll take you a few hours to ride the gondolas up. There are ramps too, if you’d prefer a carriage, but they take longer—and the gondolas have a better view.” Gondolas would have been wonderful, Wax thought, if most of them had had more than a few hours of sleep. With the reception tonight, they’d need to be rested and ready to go.

“Shortcut?” he asked Marasi.

“You realize I’m wearing a skirt.”

“I do. What happened to that fancy new constable uniform with the trousers?” “Packed away. Not everyone likes wearing uniforms when we don’t have to, Waxillium.” “Well, you can wait and take the gondolas,” Wax said. “Think of me resting peacefully in a soft hotel bed while you blink bleary eyes and droop against—” “All right, fine,” Marasi said, stepping up to him. “Just stay away from crowds.” Wax grabbed her around the waist. “I’ll be back for the rest of you,” he told Wayne, who nodded. “Engineer, have our things sent to the Copper Gate, if you please.” “Yes, my lord.”

Wax slid open the side of the cab, took another drink of metal flakes—recovered from the stash in his luggage—then pulled Marasi tight, burned steel, and leaped. A flared Push sent them soaring away from the train, which was slowing as it approached the buildings clustered around the base of New Seran.

They dropped toward these, but a shot from Vindication as they neared the ground gave him something to bounce off of. He sent them upward, past the lower tiers, using metal he found there to keep them aloft.

The homes here were much smaller than those in Elendel. Quaint, even. In Elendel, you could rarely afford to waste space on a single dwelling—even in the slums, towering apartments were the norm. There was a kind of eternal shift going on, where sections of town would fall into disrepair over time, filling with the poor while those able to afford something new moved to other sections. It was fascinating to him that, if you looked at old maps, what were now slums had once been considered prime real estate.

He saw few apartment buildings and only three skyscrapers, confined to a small commercial district on the top terrace. Though the terraces constrained the city’s boundaries, they looked large enough to hold the population. Lots of parks and small streams, none deep enough to be navigable like Elendel’s canals.

He stayed to the rooftops, rather than the streets, for Marasi’s sake—though she didn’t have much trouble with her skirt. She’d tucked it around her legs before they started, and the generally upward motion kept it from flaring.

Wax threw the two of them in great leaping arcs over residential areas until they reached the next cliff face, where he found a gondola and used it as an anchor to shoot them up the fifty feet or so toward the top tier of the terraces. He exulted in the moment, the freedom, the beauty of it. There was a majesty about soaring alongside a churning waterfall, with sparkling pools and lush gardens spreading out beneath.

They topped the cliff face, and Wax landed them softly alongside the falls. Marasi let out a held breath as he set her down; he could tell from the tension of her grip that she hadn’t enjoyed the flight as much as he had. Steelpushing wasn’t natural to her, nor were the heights—she backed away from the cliff as soon as she was free.

“Going to go get the others?” she asked.

“Let’s find the hotel first,” Wax said, pointing the way toward a statue he’d spotted upon landing. He could still make out the green patina of the statue’s head over the tops of the nearby homes. He started in that direction.

Marasi joined him, and they entered a street with a fair amount of foot traffic, papergirls and boys hawking broadsheets at every corner. Fewer horses or carriages than in Elendel—almost none, though he did see a fair number of pedicabs. That made sense, with the layout of the city. He found it interesting that the gondola system wasn’t only for getting between terraces; there were also lines crossing the sky above them carting people from one section of this terrace to another.

“Like a shark among minnows,” Marasi mumbled.

“What’s that?” Wax asked.

“Look at how people swerve around you,” Marasi said. “Lord Cimines once did a study comparing constables to sharks, showing how the people in a crowded walkway responded exactly the same way as animals do to a predator moving nearby.” He hadn’t noticed, but she was right. People gave him a wide berth—though not because they guessed he was a constable. It was the mistcoat duster, the weapons, and perhaps his height. Everyone seemed a little shorter down here, and he saw over the crowd by several inches.

In Elendel, his clothing had been abnormal—but so was everyone’s. That city was a mishmash, like an old barrel full of spent cartridges. All different calibers represented.

Here, the people wore lighter clothing than in Elendel. Pastel dresses for the ladies, striped white suits and boater hats for the men. Compared to them, he was a bullet hole in a stained-glass window.

“Never been good at blending in anyway,” he said.

“Fair enough,” Marasi said. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Do you need Wayne tonight?” “At the party?” Wax asked, amused. “I have trouble imagining a situation where he doesn’t end up drunk in the punch bowl.” “Then I’ll borrow him,” Marasi said. “I want to check the graveyards for ReLuur’s spike.” Wax grunted. “That will be dirty work.”

“Which is why I asked for Wayne.”

“Noted. What do you think the chances are you’ll find the thing buried in a grave?” Marasi shrugged. “I figure we’ll start with the most obvious and easiest method.” “Grave robbing is the easiest method?”

“It is with proper preparation,” Marasi said. “I don’t intend to do the digging, after all.…” Wax stopped listening.

The chatter of the crowd faded as he froze in place, staring at a broadsheet held up by a papergirl on a nearby corner. That symbol, the jagged reverse mah … he knew that symbol all too well. He left Marasi midsentence, pushing through the crowd to the girl and snatching the paper.

That symbol. Impossible. FARTHING MANSION HIT, the headline read. He fished out a few clips for the girl. “Farthing Mansion? Where is it?” “Just up Blossom Way,” the girl said, pointing with her chin and making the coins in his palm disappear.

“Come on,” he said, interrupting Marasi as she started saying something.

People did make way for him, which was convenient. He could have taken to the sky, but he found the mansion without difficulty, partially because of the people crowded outside and pointing. The symbol was painted in red, exactly like the one he’d known back in the Roughs, but this time it marred the wall of a fine, three-story stone mansion instead of a stagecoach.

“Waxillium, for the love of sanity,” Marasi said, catching up to him. “What has gotten into you?” He pointed at the symbol.

“I recognize that,” Marasi said. “Why would I recognize that?” “You read the accounts of my time in the Roughs,” Wax said. “It’s in there—that’s the symbol of Ape Manton, one of my old nemeses.” “Ape Manton!” Marasi said. “Didn’t he—”

“Yes,” Wax said, remembering the nights of torture. “He hunts Allomancers.” But why would he be here? Wax had put him away, and not just in some minor village. He’d been locked up in True Madil, biggest town in the Northern Roughs, with a jail like a vise. How in Harmony’s True Name had he gotten all the way down to New Seran?

Robbery wouldn’t be the end of Manton’s activities here. He always had a motive behind the thefts, a goal. I have to figure out what he took, and why he— No.

No, not right now. “Let’s get to the hotel,” Wax said, ripping himself away from the sight of that red symbol.

“Rusts,” Marasi said, hurrying after him. “Could he be involved somehow?” “With the Set? Not a chance. He hates Allomancers.”

“Enemy of my enemy…”

“Not the Ape,” Wax said. “He wouldn’t take the hand of a Metalborn trying to save him from slipping to his death.” “So…”

“So he’s not part of this,” Wax said. “We ignore him. I’m here for my uncle.” Marasi nodded, but seemed disturbed. They passed a Lurcher juggler, dropping balls and tugging them back up into the air—along with the occasional object from among the amused crowd of watchers. A waste of Allomantic abilities. And all these people. Suffocating. He had hoped that in leaving Elendel, he would escape crowded streets. He nearly pulled out his gun and fired a shot to clear them all away.

“Wax…” Marasi said, taking his arm.

“What.”

“What? Rusts, your stare could nail a person’s head to the wall right now!” “I’m fine,” he said, pulling his arm away from her.

“This vendetta against your uncle is—”

“It’s not a vendetta.” Wax picked up his pace, striding through the crowd, mistcoat tassels flaring behind him. “You know what he’s doing.” “No, and neither do you,” Marasi said.

“He’s breeding Allomancers,” Wax said. “Maybe Feruchemists. I don’t need to know his exact plan to know how bad that is. What if he’s making an army of Thugs and Coinshots? Twinborn. Compounders.” “That might be true,” Marasi admitted. “But you aren’t chasing him because of any of that, are you? He beat you. In the Hundredlives case, Mister Suit got the best of you. Now you’re going to win the war where you lost the battle.” He stopped in place, turning on her. “How petty do you think I am?” “Considering what I just told you,” she said, “I’d say I consider you precisely that petty. It’s not wrong to be angry at Suit, Waxillium. He’s holding your sister. But rusts, please don’t let it cloud your judgment.” He took a deep breath, then gestured toward the mansion up the street. “You want me to go chasing after the Ape instead?” “No,” Marasi said, then blushed. “I agree that we need to stay focused on getting back the spike.” “You’re here for the spike, Marasi,” Wax said. “I’m here to find Suit.” He nodded down the street, toward a discreet hotel sign, barely visible on the front of a building. “You go check us in. I’m going to fetch the others.” * * *

“With this suite and the others, you’ll basically have the entire top floor to yourselves.” The hotel owner—who insisted upon being called Aunt Gin—beamed as she said it.

Wayne yawned, rubbing his eyes as he poked through the lavish room’s bar. “Great. Lovely. Can I have your hat?” “My … hat?” The elderly woman looked up at the oversized hat. The sides drooped magnificently, and the thing was festooned with flowers. Like, oodles of them. Silk, he figured, but they were really good replicas.

“You have a lady friend?” Aunt Gin asked. “You wish to give her the hat?” “Nah,” Wayne said. “I need to wear it next time I’m an old lady.” “The next time you what?” Aunt Gin grew pale, but that was probably on account of the fact that Wax went stomping by, wearing his full rusting mistcoat. That man never could figure out how to blend in.

“Do these windows open?” Wax asked, pointing toward the penthouse suite’s enormous bay windows. He stepped up onto one of the sofas and shoved on the window.

“Well, they used to open,” Aunt Gin said. “But they rattled in the breezes, so we painted them shut and sealed the latches. Never could stand the thought of someone—” Wax shoved one of them open, breaking off the latch and making a sharp cracking sound as the paint outside was ripped, perhaps some of the wood splintering.

“Lord Ladrian!” Aunt Gin said with a gasp.

“I’ll pay for the repairs,” Wax said, hopping off the couch. “I need that to open in case I have to jump out.” “Jump—”

“Aha!” Wayne said, pulling open the bar’s bottom cabinet.

“Alcohol?” Marasi asked, walking by.

“Peanuts,” Wayne said, spitting out his gum and then popping a handful of nuts into his mouth. “I ain’t had nothin’ to eat since I swiped that fruit in Steris’s luggage.” “What are you babbling about?” Steris asked from the couch, where she was writing in her notebook.

“I left you one of my shoes in trade,” Wayne said, then dug in his duster’s pocket, pulling out the other shoe. “Speaking of that, Gin, will you swap me your hat for this one?” “Your shoe?” Aunt Gin asked, turning back toward him, then jumping as Wax forced open another window.

“Sure,” Wayne said. “They’re both clothes, right?”

“What would I do with a man’s shoe?”

“Wear it next time you gotta be a fellow,” Wayne said. “You’ve got the perfect face for it. Good shoulders, too.” “Well, I—”

“Please ignore him,” Steris said, rising and walking over. “Here, I’ve prepared for you a list of possible scenarios that might transpire during our residence here.” “Steris…” Wax said, forcing open the third and final window.

“What?” she demanded. “I will not have the staff unprepared. Their safety is our concern.” “Fire?” Aunt Gin asked, reading the list. “Shoot-outs. Robbery. Hostage situations. Explosions?” “That one is completely unfair,” Wax said. “You’ve been listening to Wayne.” “Things do explode around you, mate,” Wayne said, munching peanuts. Nice bit of salt on these.

“He’s right, unfortunately,” Steris said. “I’ve accounted for seventeen explosions involving you. That’s a huge statistical anomaly, even considering your profession.” “You’re kidding. Seventeen?”

“Afraid so.”

“Huh.” He had the decency to look proud of it, at least.

“A pastry shop once blew up while we was in it,” Wayne said, leaning in to Aunt Gin. “Dynamite in a cake. Big mess.” He held out some peanuts toward her. “How about I throw in these peanuts with the shoe?” “Those are my peanuts! From this very room!”

“But they’re worth more now,” Wayne said. “On account of my being real hungry.” “I told you to ignore him,” Steris said, tapping on the notebook she’d handed Aunt Gin. “Look, you only read the table of contents. The rest of the pages contain explanations of the possible scenarios I’ve outlined, and suggested responses to them. I’ve sorted the list by potential for property damage.” Wax leaped into the center of the room, then thrust his hand forward. The door quivered.

“What … what is he doing?” Aunt Gin asked.

“Checking to see where the best places in the room are for slamming the door with his mind,” Wayne said. “In case someone bursts in on us.” “Just read the notebook, all right?” Steris requested in a pleasant tone.

Aunt Gin looked toward her, seeming bewildered. “Are these things … threats?” “No, of course not!” Steris said. “I only want you to be prepared.” “She’s thorough,” Wayne said.

“I like to be thorough.”

“Usually that means if you ask her to kill a fly, she’ll burn down the house just to be extra sure it gets done.” “Wayne,” Steris said, “you’re needlessly making the lady concerned.” “Flooding from a diverted waterfall,” Aunt Gin said, reading from the book again. “Koloss attack. Cattle stampede through the lobby?” “That one is highly unlikely,” Steris said, “but it never hurts to be prepared!” “But—”

The door to the adjoining suite slammed open. “Hello, humans,” MeLaan said, stepping into the doorway wearing nothing more than a tight pair of shorts and a cloth wrapped around her chest. “I need to put on something appropriate for tonight. What do you think? Large breasts? Small breasts? Extra-large breasts?” Everybody in the room paused, then turned toward her.

“What?” MeLaan said. “Picking a proper bust size is vital to a lady’s evening preparations!” Silence.

“That’s … kind of an improper question, MeLaan,” Steris finally said.

“You’re just jealous because you can’t take yours off to go for a run,” MeLaan said. “Hey, where is that bellboy with my things? I swear, if he drops my bags and cracks any of my skulls, there will be fury in this room!” She stalked away.

“Did she say skulls?” Aunt Gin said.

The door slammed.

“Aha!” Wax said, lowering his hand. “There it is.”

Marasi approached and wrapped her arm around the elderly lady’s shoulders, leading her away. “Don’t worry. It won’t be nearly as bad as they make it seem. Likely nothing will happen to you or your hotel.” “Other than Wax rippin’ your windows apart,” Wayne noted.

“Other than that,” Marasi said, giving him a glare.

“Young lady,” Aunt Gin said under her breath, “you need to get away from these people.” “They’re fine,” Marasi said, reaching the door. “We’ve just had a long night.” Aunt Gin nodded hesitantly.

“Good,” Marasi said. “Now, when you get down below, would you please send someone to the trade bureau for me? Have them collect the names of each and every person who works at the local graveyards.” “Graveyards?”

“It’s vitally important,” Marasi said, then pushed the woman out and shut the door.

“Graveyards?” MeLaan said, sticking her head into the room. She was now completely bald. “Reminds me. Would you order me something to eat? A nice hunk of aged meat.” “Rotting, you mean,” Wax said.

“Nothing like the odor of a nice flank after a day in the sun,” MeLaan said, ducking back into her room as a knock came at the other door. “Ah! My bags. Excellent. What? No, of course there aren’t corpses in these. Why would I need bones with the flesh still on them? Thank you. Bye.” Wayne popped the last of the peanuts into his mouth. “I dunno about you all, but I’m gonna find a place to snore for a few hours.” “Sleeping arrangements, Waxillium?” Marasi asked.

“You and Steris in the suite across the hall,” Wax said, “Wayne and I in here. MeLaan gets her own room. She probably wants to, um…” “Melt?” Marasi offered.

“… on her own.”

“I’m good, really,” MeLaan called from the next room. A second later she opened the door again. She wore the same bones and build, but this time she was completely bare-chested.

It wasn’t a woman’s chest.

“I solved the problem,” MeLaan said. “I’ll go as a fellow. That will probably be more covert anyway. Just have to choose the right bones.” Wayne cocked his head. She’d sculpted her face too, giving herself masculine features. Steris’s eyes were bulging. At least that was worth seeing.

“You’re…” Steris said. “You’ll become a…”

“A man?” MeLaan asked. “Yeah. It’ll look better when I’ve decided on the right body. Need to settle on a voice, too.” She looked around the room. “Um, is this a problem?” Everyone looked at Wayne for some reason. He thought for a moment, then shrugged. Maybe he should have given his shoes to her.

“You don’t mind?” Steris demanded of him.

“It’s still her.”

“But she looks like a man!”

“So does the lady what runs this house,” Wayne said, “but she has kids, so someone still decided to take her an—” “It will do, MeLaan,” Wax said, resting a hand on Steris’s arm. “Assuming you can get into the party.” “Don’t worry about that,” she said, spinning around. “I will get in, and be ready to give you support. But this is your play, Ladrian, not mine. You’re the detective; I’m just around for the punchy-punchy, stabby-stabby.” She closed the door. Wayne shook his head. Now that, that’s a situation a man don’t rightly encounter all that often.… Well, he’d found occasion to be an old lady now and then, so it made sense to him. It was probably good for a woman to be a fellow once in a while, if only to offer some perspective. Easier to piss too. Couldn’t discount that.

“She assumes,” Wax said, “that our detective style isn’t normally the punchy-punchy, stabby-stabby type.” “To be fair,” Wayne said, “it’s usually a more shooty-shooty, whacky-whacky type.” Marasi rubbed her forehead. “Why are we having this conversation?” “Because we’re tired,” Wax said. “Get some sleep, everyone. Wayne, you’re going to go with Marasi tonight and dig up some graves.” He took a deep breath. “And I, unfortunately, am going to a party.”