The Bands of Mourning (Mistborn #6) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,30
“Now, I don’t want to go wrong, seein’ as I’m being so gentlemanly and grown-up and the like. But you can’t blame a man for gettin’ ideas when hearing something such as that. So … I don’t suppose that there’s a chance for the three of us to—”
“Wayne.”
“I don’t mind none if she’s fat, Ranette. I likes a girl what has something to hold on to.”
“Wayne.”
He looked back at her, noting the storm in her expression. “Right,” he said. “Right. Okay. Yeah. I don’t suppose, when we’re lookin’ fondly on this conversationalizing and our memorable farewell, we could both just forget I said that last part?”
“I’ll do my best.”
He smiled, took off his hat, and gave her a deep bow he’d learned off a sixth-generation doorman greeter at Lady ZoBell’s ballroom in the Fourth Octant. Then he stood up straight, replaced his hat, and put his back toward her. He found himself whistling as he went on his way.
“What is that song?” she called after him. “I know it.”
“‘The Last Breath,’” he said without turning back. “The pianoforte was playin’ it when we first met.”
He turned the corner, and didn’t look back. Didn’t even check if she’d sighted on him with a rifle or something. Feeling a spring in his step, he made his way to the nearest busy intersection and tossed the empty wallet into the gutter. It wasn’t long before a carriage-for-hire pulled up, and its coachman glanced to the side, saw the wallet, and scrambled down to grab it.
Dashing out from an alley, Wayne beat the man to it, diving for the wallet and rolling on the ground. “It’s mine!” he said. “I seen it first!”
“Nonsense,” the coachman said, swatting Wayne with his horse reed. “I dropped it, you ruffian. It’s mine!”
“Oh, is that so?” Wayne said. “How much is innit?”
“I need not answer to you.”
Wayne grinned, holding up the wallet. “I tells you what. You can have it and everything that’s inside. But you take me to the Fourth Octant west train station.”
The coachman eyed him, then held out his hand.
Half an hour later, the coach rolled up to the rail station—a bleak-looking building with peaked towers and tiny windows, as if to taunt those trapped inside with a scant view of the sky. Wayne sat on the back footman’s stand, legs swinging over the side. Trains steamed nearby, rolling up to platforms to gorge themselves on a new round of passengers.
Wayne hopped down, tipped his hat to the grumbling coachman—who seemed well aware he’d been had—and strolled in through the open doors. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked about until he found Wax, Marasi, and Steris standing amid a small hill of suitcases, with servants waiting at the ready to carry them.
“Finally!” Wax snapped. “Wayne, our train is nearly boarding. Where have you been?”
“Makin’ an offering to a beautiful god,” Wayne said, looking up toward the building’s high ceiling. “Why do you suppose they made this place so big? Ain’t like the trains ever come in here, eh?”
“Wayne?” Steris asked, wrinkling her nose. “Are you drunk?”
He put a bit of a slur into his speech. “Course not. Why … why’d I be drunk at this hour?” He looked at her lazily.
“You’re insufferable,” she said, waving to her lady’s maid. “I can’t believe you risked being late for a little liquor.”
“Wasn’t a little,” Wayne said.
When the train arrived, he joined the others in climbing aboard—Steris and Wax had ordered an entire car set aside for the lot of them. Unfortunately, the last-minute hiring meant it had to be hitched all the way at the back, and Wayne had to share a room with Herve the footman. Bugger that. He knew for a fact the man snored. He’d find someplace else to sleep, or else just stay up. The train to New Seran wasn’t going to take that long. They’d arrive before sunrise.
In fact, as the thing finally started to chug into motion, he swung out his compartment’s window—much to Herve’s consternation—and climbed up onto the roof. He sat there whistling softly, watching Elendel pass for a time, wind ruffling his hair. A simple tune, easy and familiar, and the accompanying beat played on the tracks below. Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum. Quick … energetic.
He lay down then, staring at the sky, the clouds, the sun.
Eyes forward, back turned toward the past.
PART TWO
5
Watching the passing scenes, Wax was immediately struck by how populated the land was south of Elendel.