Wax took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and strode out past the guard. Wax walked through the center of the room and met up with Ironeyes, who was uncommonly tall. As Wax had always imagined, actually.
“Sword,” Death said, focusing spikes upon him. “We need to speak.”
Wax gestured into the room with the others, and Death walked past the stunned constables, though one — bearing the shoulder patch of a Seeker — managed to pull out a gun. Not a move Wax would have advised. All Death did was wave absently and Pull the gun across the room to catch it. Then, making it hover between his hands — an incredible feat, the difficulty of which few non-Allomancers would grasp — he flexed. And the gun’s barrel crunched.
Wax froze. Hell. He’d never seen someone do that with their powers before. How would you even accomplish it?
Push on the near end, Pull on the far end, he thought. But damn, the power involved …
The gun dropped to the floor, and as Wax and Death reached the door, they saw that Entrone and Blantach had stepped out of an office, their eyes wide.
“Ah,” Ironeyes said, focusing on the lord mayor. “Gave. I never cared much for the members of House Entrone I knew during my mortality.”
“I…” Entrone said. “This is my prisoner. Who…”
“I require privacy,” Ironeyes said. “You will return to these mortals their weapons. Once our conference is finished, you will impede their investigation in this city no further.”
“I’m not of your religion…”
“Death is not a religion,” Ironeyes said. “It is a fact.”
“But—”
“How would you like to die, mortal?” Ironeyes asked, stepping closer, robes billowing around him. “And when? Quietly? In the night, of a failing heart? Drowning, on one of your new ships as it sinks? Here? Right now? Crushed by the weight of your own stupidity?”
Entrone licked his lips, then whispered, “As you demand, Ironeyes, it shall be done.” It appeared that he could indeed be superstitious without being religious.
Wax walked into the room, and Ironeyes swept in after. “Wayne,” Death said softly, closing the door, “kindly watch the door to make certain we are not observed or listened to.”
“Uh, sure,” Wayne said, scrambling over to the door and its window. “They’re all just standin’ out there. ’Cept the few that have fainted. Neat.” He glanced at Ironeyes. “That accent of yours … real old, real interesting … I actually kinda got it right.”
Death sank down into a chair and seemed to age suddenly. Wrinkles sank from the corners of his eyes, crossing his face, and his jowls sagged. He sighed loudly, tipping his metal eyes toward the ceiling. “Lord Ruler,” he muttered. “That was a performance, wasn’t it? And to think that I was the reasonable one in the crew.”
Marasi and Wax shared a glance.
“Ironeyes?” Marasi asked. “Are you … well?”
“No,” he said. “I run low on atium, and so age finally emerges from the shadows. It has always stalked me. Now it senses the kill. I was here in Bilming, seeking answers. They try to re-create the metal, and I thought maybe…”
“If you run out…” Marasi said, “… you die?”
He nodded. “I was going to let it happen. I have lived so much, far longer than my due. But I helped destroy this world — unwillingly, yes, but my weakness led to much sorrow. I swore I would help. And so, I struggle yet to live…”
Rusts. Death took a deep breath, and the lines on his face retreated — then regrew when he exhaled. It looked like he was vacillating between decades of age with each breath.
“Trell wants to own this planet,” Death whispered. “So your time dwindles, as does mine.” He studied Wax with those inscrutable not-eyes. “I’ve grown too weak to continue hunting those who would destroy this land. My display earlier will get you out of this room, perhaps convince the local constables to leave you alone, but that … might be all I can offer.”
Wax knelt beside the aging demigod, a thought striking him. “You were in the city, hunting for atium. Why?”
“Because someone here is trying to split harmonium,” he explained. “And create the metal again. Though making lerasium would be far more dangerous…”
“Do you know what happens?” Marasi asked. “When someone tries to split harmonium?”
Death shook his head.
“An explosion,” Wax said. “A big explosion. It’s what we’re trying to stop. Do you have any leads?”
“One, perhaps,” Death said, thoughtful. “A man vanished two weeks ago. I only just ran across his name: Tobal Copper. He made some kind of legal disturbance that mentioned splitting harmonium in the months before he disappeared. Finding out what happened to him would have been my next step.”
Wax nodded. A lead — a slim one, but still somewhere to start. The way his sister talked … it made him feel an increasing urgency.
“Ironeyes?” Marasi asked, stepping over.
“You may call me Marsh,” he said softly. “It … feels good to hear that name. To remember what I used to be.”
“Marsh,” she said. “How did you crush that gun?”
“Duralumin,” he said absently, “and a lot of practice. Listen, child. Harmony is growing increasingly indecisive. He denies it, but I see it. That gives Autonomy — Trell, the god of the outworlders — a chance to move in. She seeks to eliminate us from the stage of galactic politics before we even step onto it, and her followers are already armed with Hemalurgy. You studied the book I gave you?”
“Yes,” she said. “And Waxillium practically memorized it.” Wax nodded in agreement.
“Your enemy,” Death said softly, “has learned how to circumvent one of the most important limitations to Hemalurgy: her agents bear too many spikes. That should open them to Harmony’s influence, but it doesn’t. Either Harmony is too weak to exploit what they’ve done, or they’ve found a way to use Trell’s own metal to offset the weakness.
“This is extremely dangerous. So far, I do not believe they’ve learned the secret to Compounding via Hemalurgy. Identity contamination prevents it; that is our only saving grace. If they could do that … or, Lord Ruler … if they get atium, or lerasium…”
“So … what do we do?” Wayne asked from the door.
“What we’ve always done,” Marsh said. “Survive.” He looked to Wax again. “The people of Bilming think they are accomplishing so much, building this navy of theirs to threaten Elendel. It is all part of Trell’s plan somehow. Be warned. Be careful. She steers them. I’ve been … dull of mind lately, as I try to fight off what is happening to me.”
“We’ll stop them,” Marasi said. “I promise it, Marsh.”
Wayne waved to them. A moment later, an attendant arrived with their weapons and equipment. She then withdrew to let them rearm.
“Marsh,” Marasi said, slipping a small handgun into her shoulder bag, “have you ever seen a symbol like this?” She quickly sketched three interlocking diamonds in her notepad. They reminded Wax of something. Some architectural designs from around Elendel?
Yes, he thought. Near the Field of Rebirth. Actually, it resembled the three-petal shape of a Marewill flower.
“This is my brother’s symbol,” Marsh said. “He does what he thinks is best. As has always been the case with him. He … is not the best at self-reflection, but he does want to protect Scadrial. His agents will align with your interests.”