“Wayne,” Marasi said, “that’s Professor Hanlanaze. He’s a brilliant mathematician.”
“Hm,” Wayne said, rubbing his chin. “From the university.”
“No, from New Seran. He’s been behind some of the discoveries in combustion technology.”
Wayne perked up. “From outside the city. So people might not know him.”
“They will by reputation.”
“But personally?”
“He’s somewhat reclusive,” Marasi said. “He often gets invited to things like this, but rarely comes. Wayne, I see that look in your eye. You can’t imitate him.”
“What’s the worst that could come of it?”
“We get caught,” she said, still walking with him around the speed bubble. “We get thrown in prison, prosecuted for conspiracy, embarrass Waxillium.”
“Now that,” Wayne said, striding back to where he’d been standing when he’d sped up time, “is the best damn argument for trying this that anyone could make. Come back so I can drop this speed bubble. After that we’re gonna need to find us some weapons.”
Marasi paled, joining him. “If you are thinking of sneaking guns in—”
“Not guns,” Wayne said with a grin. “A different kind of weapon. Math.”
“So that kandra is in here,” Steris said softly from her place on Wax’s arm as she scanned the party room. “Somewhere.”
The penthouse of ZoBell Tower encompassed its entire top floor, with windows ringing the outside. Light from a dozen dim chandeliers played off wineglasses, diamond jewelry, sequins on sleek dresses. The dress style was new. Was he so oblivious to fashion that he had missed such a dramatic shift?
Steris wore more traditional attire—a kind of gauzy, draping white dress with a very small bustle and a distinct waist. However, it had sequins lining the collar and cuffs, and was more filmy—lighter than what she normally wore, and actually quite pretty on her. With the sequins, it shared something with these modern gowns.
The party attendees moved around several bars and numerous small displays set up on the red-carpeted floor. Wax and Steris passed one, a stand with a glass box enclosing a raw copper nugget as big as a man’s head. Light glimmered on its surface.
Allomantic metals, Wax thought as they passed another display. Dozens of specimens, with plaques talking about where the nugget or vein had been mined. They provoked conversations around the room, clusters of people chatting as light played off the colorful drinks in their fingers.
“You’re drawing attention,” Steris noted. “I’m not certain wearing the coat was a wise move.”
“The mistcoat is a symbol,” Wax said. “It is a reminder.” She’d talked him out of the hat, but not this.
“It makes you look like a ruffian.”
“It’s supposed to. Maybe they’ll think twice about lying to me; I don’t want to be part of their games.”
“You are already part of their games, Lord Waxillium.”
“Which is why I don’t like coming to the parties.” He held up his hand, cutting her off. “I know. It’s important that we be here. Let’s go chat with the partygoers you’ve planned for us to approach.”
She always had a list, carefully prepared. Steris was the only person he’d ever heard of who brought an agenda to a cocktail party.
“No,” she said.
“No?”
“That is what we commonly do,” Steris said, giving a specific smile—she practiced different ones—to Lady Mulgrave as they passed. “Tonight’s purpose is yours. Let us be about it and find that killer.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes,” she said, waving to another couple. “It behooves a wife to be interested in, if not involved in, the passions of her spouse.”
“You don’t need to do that, Steris. I—”
“Please,” she said softly. “I do.”
Wax let the argument drop. Truth was, he was pleased. With the possibility that Bleeder was here somewhere, Wax wouldn’t be able to relax anyway.
So how to find the creature? More importantly, how would he beat someone who could move in a blur? Unlike Allomancy—which burned at a few standard rates—Feruchemical powers could be used up all at once. Bleeder could drain her metalminds in a single burst of speed—and could probably take down dozens of people in an eyeblink. Maybe even hundreds. And Wax wouldn’t be able to do a thing.
But perhaps she wouldn’t have enough left for that. She couldn’t just pop more metal in, like an Allomancer, and refill her reserves. She’d have to rely on what speed she had been able to store up, and she’d only stolen her spike recently. Killing the people at Winsting’s party would have expended a large amount of what she’d theoretically been able to save up over the last few weeks.
So he had two options. Kill her before she moved, or somehow get her to waste her Feruchemical reserve without hurting anyone.
He stepped up to the bar, ordering drinks, then turned to scan the crowd. It had been two decades since he’d been a part of high society, and his two years back in Elendel hadn’t yet polished off all the rust. Everyone here had the same counterfeit way about them—they chatted with a studied air of merriment while secretly pursuing their own agendas. There was no better place for a murderer to blend in than this.
Drinks in hand, Wax stepped down from the bar and turned on his steel bubble.
It wasn’t something he’d always been able to do, and he wasn’t entirely certain how he did it. Oh, the basic mechanics were obvious: he burned steel, then Pushed lightly outward from himself in all directions at once. But how had he learned to exempt metal he himself carried? He still didn’t know. It was just something that had happened, over time.
With the bubble on, his Allomantic instincts searched out any bits of metal moving quickly toward him, and would Push on those with increasing force as they drew closer. He was getting better and better at that. Standing and letting Darriance shoot at his chest while wearing about twelve inches of padding and armor had helped. He couldn’t dodge bullets, but the bubble helped.
“What did you just do?” Steris asked as he reached her. “My bracelet wants to leap off my arm.”
“Remove it,” Wax said. “If there’s an Allomantic fight, I don’t want you wearing any metals.”
Steris raised an eyebrow, but took off the bracelet and dropped it in her handbag. Wax mentally added an exception for it.
“I don’t know that it will matter,” Steris said. “This place is positively teeming with metal. What are you doing with your drink?”
Wax looked up. He’d just finished covertly dumping a bit of brown powder into his cup. “I got water,” he said. “The powder will make it look like I’m drinking brandy. If I can feign drunkenness later, it might give me an edge.”
“Fascinating,” Steris said. She seemed genuinely impressed.
They moved through the room, passing under a chandelier. The separate bits of crystal—which had wires suspending them—moved subtly away from Wax, like the needle of a compass confronted by a magnet’s matching pole. He accidentally knocked a nugget off a pedestal as they passed. Rusts. Against his better judgment, he dampened his steel bubble.
“Let’s find the governor,” Steris said.
Wax nodded. He couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter which way he turned, someone had a gun pointed at his back.