MeLaan leaned back for a moment, as if lost in thought, then flipped a coaster at Wax’s tower to knock it down. She grunted.
“What?” Wax said.
“I was just curious to see if you were cheating too.”
“Wax never cheats,” Wayne said, face halfway in his mug. Wax had never figured out how he could talk and drink at the same time without choking.
“That’s incorrect,” Wax said. “I cheat infrequently. That way nobody’s expecting it.” He stood up. “Can you think of a reason Bleeder would target the governor in particular?”
MeLaan shook her head.
“Do any of the other kandra know her better than you do?”
“Maybe one of the older ones,” MeLaan said. “I’ll see if I can get one of them to come talk to you.”
“Good,” Wax said. “But first I want you three watching the governor.”
“I’ve got to report in to the precinct offices first,” Marasi said. “I want to follow up on something there.”
“Fine,” Wax said. “Wayne, you head to the governor’s mansion first.”
“He ditched me last time.”
“He won’t again,” Wax said. “I’ve persuaded him to listen, though we’ll need him to meet MeLaan soon.”
“Sure, all right,” Wayne said. “It wasn’t like I was planning to, you know, sleep tonight or anythin’.”
“Sleep might be in short supply going forward,” Wax said.
“You want me to go with him, Dawnshot?” MeLaan asked.
“Depends. Marasi, would you like some backup?”
“Yes please,” she said.
“Watch her,” Wax said, nodding toward Marasi. “And maybe give Aradel a glimpse of your nature. It’s probably time to inform him what we’re up against.”
“Already done,” Marasi said. “Though I’m sure he’d like proof.”
Wax grunted. He hadn’t ordered her to do that. “Be quick about your errand,” Wax told her. “And get to the governor. I want more than one set of eyes on him. And before we split, I want each pair of us to exchange codes, individual and unknown to the others, so we each have a way to authenticate ourselves to one another. I’ve done the same with the governor and his top staff.” Harmony, this was going to be a nightmare.
“Watching the governor isn’t going to be enough, Wax,” Marasi said, standing up from the table. “You yourself said it. Too reactive. So what else are we going to do?”
“I’ll come up with something.”
The others stood, and Wax towed Wayne by the arm to check to see that they were square with the pub manager. Surprisingly, Wayne had indeed paid for everything he should have. On their way toward the door, Wax explained to his friend a little idea he had for protecting the governor.
They stepped into the entryway of the pub, where MeLaan was waiting while Marasi fired up her beast of a motorcar. Wayne hiked off to catch a carriage to take him to the governor’s mansion, and Wax took MeLaan by the arm.
“I hate this,” he noted, soft enough to keep the bouncer outside from hearing. “Not being able to trust people I should always be able to. Second-guessing myself.”
“Yeah,” she replied. “But you’ll handle it. There’s a reason He came to you for this.” She stepped in closer. Rusts, she was attractive—but then, it would be odd if she weren’t, all things considered. “You and I aren’t the only ones hunting Paalm, lawman—every kandra in the city is searching for her. Thing is, I don’t think many of my brothers and sisters will be of use. They’re timid about hurting others, particularly after what TenSoon was forced to do during the Remarked Duplicity. And beyond that, they can be an … inconsistent group.”
“They’re God’s servants,” Wax said.
“Yes,” MeLaan replied, “and they’ve had centuries upon centuries to refine their eccentricities. Getting older does not tend to make you more normal, let me tell you. We don’t think like killers. We’ve been too closely in contact with Harmony. What Paalm is doing, it baffles us. It goes against everything we’ve believed and lived for centuries. I don’t think we’ll be able to find her, not in time. But you … you can.”
“Because I think like a killer.”
“I didn’t—”
“It’s all right,” Wax said, releasing her arm. “I am what I am.” He took his mistcoat from the peg by the door and shrugged it on before stepping out into the night. “Thanks, by the way,” he said.
“For?”
He tapped his ear, and the earring he wore in it. “This.”
“I was just the delivery girl.”
“Doesn’t matter. It was what I needed. When I needed it.” He dropped a bullet casing, then stilled it with his foot. “I’ll meet you all at the governor’s mansion.”
14
If you want to know a man, dig in his firepit.
The phrase was from the Roughs, maybe koloss in origin. Basically, it meant that you could judge a lot about a man’s life by what he threw away—or by what he was willing to burn in order to stay warm.
A loud church clock rang eleven as Wax moved through the mists on Allomantic jumps. The sound echoed in the night, the bell tower hidden in the darkness. Eleven was not late these days, particularly not in the heart of the city, but it should have marked a time when most men and women had begun to seek their beds. Labor started early in the morning.
Only, a sizable portion of the laborers in the city didn’t have a job to get up for right now. That was reflected in the busy streets and busier pubs, not to mention the Soothing parlors he passed, still open well into the night. Those were places where the downhearted could seek a different kind of relief, in the form of an Allomancer who—for a small fee—would wipe away their emotions for a time and leave them numb.
Rioting parlors were a different beast. There, you could choose the emotion you wanted and have it stoked within you. Those might be even more popular, judging by the line he saw outside one.
Wax delayed on a rooftop, listening, then headed for the sound of men shouting. He ran along the peaked roof and Pushed off the nails in the shingles, launching himself over a set of apartments in a quiet flutter, coming down and landing on a street beyond.
Here, he found a small Pathian sanctuary. Not the church with the bell he’d heard earlier; Pathian structures were too small for that. Built to resemble old Terris huts, they were often empty save for two chairs. One for you. One, ostensibly, for Harmony. The religion forbade worship, in a formal way. But talking to God was encouraged.
Tonight, the little sanctuary was under siege.
They shouted and threw rocks: a group of shadows in the mist, probably drunk. He could make them out well enough; a misty night was never too dark in the city, not with all the ambient light reflecting off the vapors.
Wax yanked Vindication from her holster and stalked forward, mistcoat flaring behind him. His profile was enough. The first man who spotted him emerging from the mists yelled a warning and the men scattered, leaving the detritus of their tiny riot. Fallen stones. A few bottles. Wax watched their metal lines to make sure none of them rounded back on him. One stopped nearby, but kept his distance.
He shook his head, stepping up to the sanctuary. He found the missionary cowering inside, a Terriswoman in intricate braids. Pathian clergy was a strange thing. On one hand, the religion emphasized man’s personal connection to Harmony—doing good, without formality. On the other hand, people needed direction. Someone to explain all of this. Pathian missionaries—called priests by outsiders, though they rarely used the term for themselves—set up in places like this, explaining the Path to all who came. A clergy, yes, but not in the formal way of the Survivorists.