The boy started to nod, but caught himself. “I know.”
“But we’ll get you out,” Wayne said. “Don’t worry. I don’t recognize you. You new?”
“Yes.”
“Clamps recruited you?”
“Just two weeks back.”
“Which base were you working out of?”
“Which one?” the lad said, frowning.
“We have several stations of operation,” Wayne said. “But of course you don’t know that, do you? The boss only shows one to new kids, in case they get caught. Wouldn’t want you to accidentally lead people to us, eh?”
“That would be awful,” Sindren agreed. He eyed the door, but kept himself still. “He put me in the old foundry over in Longard. I thought we were the only ones!”
“That’s the idea,” Wayne said. “We can’t let a simple mistake stop us from getting payback.”
“Er, yes.”
“You don’t believe in all that, do you?” Wayne said. “It’s okay. I think the boss gets a little crazy with that stuff too.”
“Yeah,” the youth said. “I mean, most of us just want the money, you know? Payback’s nice. But…”
“… money’s better.”
“Yeah. Boss is always talking about how things will be better when he’s in charge, and how the city betrayed him, and stuff. But the city betrays everyone. That’s how life is.” The youth glanced again at the constables outside the door.
“Don’t worry,” Wayne said. “They think I’m one of them.”
“How’d you do it?” the boy asked softly.
“Just gotta talk their language, son. Surprising how many people never figure that out. You’re sure they never told you about any of the other bases? I need to know which ones are in danger.”
“No,” the youth said. “I only ever went to the foundry. Stayed there pretty much all the time, except when we went out on runs.”
“Can I give you some advice, son?” Wayne asked.
“Please.”
“Get out of this business of robbing folks. You aren’t meant for it. If you ever do get free, go back to the mills.”
The boy frowned.
“Takes a special type to be a proper criminal,” Wayne explained. “You ain’t that type. You see, in this conversation, I tricked you into confirming the name of the guy who recruited you and giving the location of your base.”
The youth grew pale. “But…”
“Don’t worry,” Wayne said. “I’m on your side, remember? You’re just lucky that I am.”
“Yeah.”
“All right,” Wayne said, lowering his voice, remaining still. “I don’t know if I can get you out by force. Face it, kid, you’re not worth it. But I can help you. I want you to talk to the constables.”
“What?”
“Give me until evening,” Wayne said. “I’ll go back to the base and clear the place out. Once that’s done, you can sing to the conners, tell them everything you know. Don’t worry, you weren’t told enough to get us into real trouble. Our contingency plans will protect us. I’ll tell the boss I told you to do it, and so you’ll be all right.
“But don’t talk to them until they promise to let you go free in return. Get a solicitor into the room; ask for one by the name of Arintol. He’s supposed to be honest.” At least, that was what people on the streets had told Wayne. “Get the conners to promise you freedom with Arintol in the room. Then, tell them everything you know.
“Once you’re out, get away from the City. Some of the gang may not believe that I told you to talk, so it could be dangerous for you. Go to the Roughs and become a millworker. Nobody will care, there. Either way, kid, stay out of crime. You’ll just end up getting someone killed. Maybe you.”
“I…” The youth looked relieved. “Thank you.”
Wayne winked. “Now, resist everything I ask you from here out.” He started coughing and dropped the speed bubble.
“—that I can’t hear,” Brettin said, “I’m stopping this right here.”
“Fine!” Wayne yelled. “Boy, tell me who you work for.”
“I ain’t giving you anything, conner!”
“You’ll talk, or I’ll have your toes!” Wayne yelled back.
The kid got into it, and Wayne gave the constables a good five minutes of arguing before throwing up his hands and storming out.
“I told you,” Brettin said.
“Yeah,” Wayne said, trying to sound dejected. “Guess you’ll just have to keep working on them.”
“It won’t work,” Brettin said. “I’ll be dead and buried before these men talk.”
“We could only be so lucky,” Wayne said.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” Wayne said, sniffing the air. “I believe that the scones have arrived. Excellent! At least this trip won’t be a complete waste.”
9
“So we aren’t sure yet what happened,” Waxillium said, sitting on the floor beside the long sheet of paper covered with his genealogical results. “The Words of Founding included a reference to two more metals and their alloys. But the ancients believed in sixteen metals, and the Law of Sixteen holds so strongly in nature that it can’t be disregarded. Either Harmony changed the way that Allomancy itself works, or we never really understood it.”
“Hmmm,” Marasi said, sitting on the floor with her knees to the side. “I would not have expected that from you, Lord Waxillium. Lawman I had anticipated. Metallurgist, perhaps. But philosopher?”
“There is a link between being a lawman and a philosopher,” Waxillium said, smiling idly. “Lawkeeping and philosophy are both about questions. I was drawn to law by a need to find the answers nobody else could, to capture the men everyone considered uncatchable. Philosophy is similar. Questions, secrets, puzzles. The human mind and the nature of the universe—the two great riddles of time.”
She nodded thoughtfully.
“What was it for you?” Waxillium asked. “One does not often meet a young woman of means studying law.”
“My means are not so … meaningful as they may seem at first,” she said. “I would be nothing without my uncle’s patronage.”
“Still.”
“Stories,” she said, smiling wistfully. “Stories of the good and the evil. Most people you meet, they aren’t quite either one.”
Waxillium frowned. “I’d disagree. Most people seem basically good.”
“Well, perhaps by one definition. But it seems that either one—good or evil—has to be pursued for it to be significant. People today … it seems they are good, or sometimes evil, mostly by inertia, not by choice. They act as their surroundings prepare them to act.
“It’s like … well, think of a world where everything is lit with the same modest light. All places, outside or inside, lit by a uniform light that cannot be changed. If, in this world of common light, someone suddenly produced a light that was significantly brighter, it would be remarkable. By the same token, if someone managed to create a room that was dim, it would be remarkable. In a way, it doesn’t matter how strong the initial illumination was. The story works regardless.”
“The fact that most people are decent does not make their decency any less valuable to society.”
“Yes, yes,” she said, blushing. “And I’m not saying I wish that everyone were less decent. But … those bright lights and those dim places fascinate me, Lord Waxillium—particularly when they’re dramatically out of order. Why is it that in one instance, a man raised in a basically good family—surrounded by basically good friends, with good employment and satisfactory means—starts strangling women with copper wires and sinking their bodies in the canals?
“And conversely, consider that most men who go to the Roughs adapt to the general climate of lax sensibilities there. But some others—a few remarkable individuals—determine to bring civilization with them. A hundred men, convinced by society that ‘everybody does it this way,’ will go along with the most crude and despicable of acts. But one man says no.”
“It’s really not as heroic as all that,” Waxillium said.
“I’m certain it doesn’t look that way to you.”
“Have you ever heard the story of the first man I brought in?”
She blushed. “I … yes. Yes, let’s just say that I’ve heard it. Peret the Black. A r**ist and an Allomancer—Pewterarm, I believe. You walked into the lawkeeper station, looked at the board, ripped his picture off and took it with you. Came back three days later with him over the saddle of your horse. Of all the men on the board, you picked the most difficult, most dangerous criminal of the bunch.”
“He was worth the most money.”
Marasi frowned.
“I looked at that board,” Waxillium said, “and I thought to myself, ‘Well, any of these blokes is right likely to kill me. So I might as well pick the one worth the most.’ I needed the money. I hadn’t had anything to eat in three days but jerky and a few beans. And then there was Taraco.”
“One of the great bandits of our era.”
“With him,” Waxillium said, “I figured I could get some new boots. He’d robbed a cobbler just a few days earlier, and I thought if I brought the man in, I might manage to get a new pair of boots out of it.”
“I thought you’d picked him because he’d shot a lawkeeper over in Faradana the week before.”
Waxillium shook his head. “I didn’t hear that until after I brought him in.”
“Oh.” Then, remarkably, she smiled in eagerness. “And Harrisel Hard?”
“A bet with Wayne,” Waxillium said. “You don’t look disappointed.”
“This just makes it more real, Lord Waxillium,” she said. Her eager eyes glittered in an almost predatory way. “I need to write these down.” She fished in her handbag, pulling out a pad and pencil.
“So that’s what motivated you?” Waxillium asked as she scribbled notes. “You study out of a desire to be a hero, like in the stories?”
“No, no,” she said. “I just wanted to learn about them.”
“Are you sure?” he said. “You could become a lawkeeper, go out to the Roughs, live these same stories. Don’t think that you can’t because you’re a woman; high society might lead you to believe that, but it doesn’t matter out beyond the mountains. Out there, you don’t have to wear lacy dresses or smell like flowers. You can belt on some revolvers and make your own rules. Don’t forget, the Ascendant Warrior herself was a woman.”
She leaned forward. “Can I admit something to you, Lord Waxillium?”
“Only if it’s salacious, personal, or embarrassing.”