Read Online Mistborn #04 The Alloy of Law by Brandon Sanderson - Free Book Online
Authors: Brandon Sanderson
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eyebrows, pleadingly.
“All right,” Waxillium said, sighing and fetching his teacup. “How many robberies now?”
“Eight. Seven railway cars and, most recently, the theater.”
“Four hostages?”
“Yeah. Across three of the latest robberies. Two were taken from one of the trains, then one from the robbery at the theater. All four hostages are women.”
“Easier to overpower,” Waxillium said idly, tapping his cup, “and more likely to make the men worry about getting them killed if they try to give chase.”
“Do you need to know what was stolen?” Wayne said, reaching into the pocket of his duster. “I traded one of the constables for a list.…”
“It doesn’t matter.” Waxillium took a drink from his cup. “Or, at least, most of it probably doesn’t. It’s not about the robberies.”
“It’s … not?”
“No. Large gang. Well funded—too well funded.” He pulled out the round and looked it over. “If they really wanted money, they’d be robbing gold transports or banks. The robberies are probably a distraction. If you want a man’s horses, sometimes the best thing to do is let his hogs loose. While he’s chasing them down, you ride off.
“I’d lay money on these Vanishers being after something else, something unlikely. Perhaps an item that is easy to overlook in all that has been taken. Or maybe it’s really about extortion—and they plan to start asking for protection money from people in town. See if anyone’s been contacted about that. I haven’t, by the way.
“If that goes nowhere, look at the hostages. One of them might have been carrying something that was the real target of the robbery. I wouldn’t be surprised if this turned out to be about clandestine blackmail.”
“But they robbed a few trains before taking any hostages.”
“Yes,” Waxillium said. “And they got away with it. There was no reason to expose themselves by robbing passengers if they could make off with cargo unseen and unstopped. They’re after something else, Wayne. Trust me.”
“All right.” The wiry man rubbed his face, then finally pulled off the fake mustache. He stuffed it into his pocket. “But tell me. Don’t you even want to know? Doesn’t it itch at you?”
“No.” That wasn’t completely true.
Wayne snorted. “I’d believe you if you could say that without your eye twitching, mate.” He nodded toward the bullet. “I notice you didn’t offer to give that back.”
“I didn’t.” Waxillium pocketed it.
“And you still wear your metalminds,” Wayne said, nodding to the bracers hidden mostly by the cuffs of Waxillium’s sleeves. “Not to mention that you’re still keeping steel inside your sleeve. I noticed a gun catalogue over on the table, too.”
“A man must have hobbies.”
“If you say so,” Wayne said, then stepped forward, tapping Waxillium on the chest. “But you know what I think? I think you’re looking for excuses to not let go. This thing, it’s who you are. And no mansion, no marriage, and no mere title is going to change that.” Wayne tipped his hat. “You’re meant to be helping people, mate. It’s what you do.”
With that, Wayne left, his duster brushing against the doorframe as he walked out.
3
Eight hours later, Waxillium stood at an upper window of his mansion. He watched the last broken fragments of a dying day. They dimmed, then grew black. He waited, hoping. But no mist came.
What does it matter? he thought to himself. You’re not going to go outside anyway. Still, he wished the mists were out; he felt more at peace when they were out there, watching. The world became a different place, one he felt he better understood.
He sighed and crossed his study to the wall. He turned the switch, and the electric lights came on. They were still a wonder to him. Even though he knew the Words of Founding had given hints regarding electricity, what men had achieved still seemed incredible.
He crossed the room to his uncle’s desk.
“All right,” Waxillium said, sighing and fetching his teacup. “How many robberies now?”
“Eight. Seven railway cars and, most recently, the theater.”
“Four hostages?”
“Yeah. Across three of the latest robberies. Two were taken from one of the trains, then one from the robbery at the theater. All four hostages are women.”
“Easier to overpower,” Waxillium said idly, tapping his cup, “and more likely to make the men worry about getting them killed if they try to give chase.”
“Do you need to know what was stolen?” Wayne said, reaching into the pocket of his duster. “I traded one of the constables for a list.…”
“It doesn’t matter.” Waxillium took a drink from his cup. “Or, at least, most of it probably doesn’t. It’s not about the robberies.”
“It’s … not?”
“No. Large gang. Well funded—too well funded.” He pulled out the round and looked it over. “If they really wanted money, they’d be robbing gold transports or banks. The robberies are probably a distraction. If you want a man’s horses, sometimes the best thing to do is let his hogs loose. While he’s chasing them down, you ride off.
“I’d lay money on these Vanishers being after something else, something unlikely. Perhaps an item that is easy to overlook in all that has been taken. Or maybe it’s really about extortion—and they plan to start asking for protection money from people in town. See if anyone’s been contacted about that. I haven’t, by the way.
“If that goes nowhere, look at the hostages. One of them might have been carrying something that was the real target of the robbery. I wouldn’t be surprised if this turned out to be about clandestine blackmail.”
“But they robbed a few trains before taking any hostages.”
“Yes,” Waxillium said. “And they got away with it. There was no reason to expose themselves by robbing passengers if they could make off with cargo unseen and unstopped. They’re after something else, Wayne. Trust me.”
“All right.” The wiry man rubbed his face, then finally pulled off the fake mustache. He stuffed it into his pocket. “But tell me. Don’t you even want to know? Doesn’t it itch at you?”
“No.” That wasn’t completely true.
Wayne snorted. “I’d believe you if you could say that without your eye twitching, mate.” He nodded toward the bullet. “I notice you didn’t offer to give that back.”
“I didn’t.” Waxillium pocketed it.
“And you still wear your metalminds,” Wayne said, nodding to the bracers hidden mostly by the cuffs of Waxillium’s sleeves. “Not to mention that you’re still keeping steel inside your sleeve. I noticed a gun catalogue over on the table, too.”
“A man must have hobbies.”
“If you say so,” Wayne said, then stepped forward, tapping Waxillium on the chest. “But you know what I think? I think you’re looking for excuses to not let go. This thing, it’s who you are. And no mansion, no marriage, and no mere title is going to change that.” Wayne tipped his hat. “You’re meant to be helping people, mate. It’s what you do.”
With that, Wayne left, his duster brushing against the doorframe as he walked out.
3
Eight hours later, Waxillium stood at an upper window of his mansion. He watched the last broken fragments of a dying day. They dimmed, then grew black. He waited, hoping. But no mist came.
What does it matter? he thought to himself. You’re not going to go outside anyway. Still, he wished the mists were out; he felt more at peace when they were out there, watching. The world became a different place, one he felt he better understood.
He sighed and crossed his study to the wall. He turned the switch, and the electric lights came on. They were still a wonder to him. Even though he knew the Words of Founding had given hints regarding electricity, what men had achieved still seemed incredible.
He crossed the room to his uncle’s desk.
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