The Bands of Mourning (Mistborn #6) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,56
activities here. He always had a motive behind the thefts, a goal. I have to figure out what he took, and why he—
No.
No, not right now. “Let’s get to the hotel,” Wax said, ripping himself away from the sight of that red symbol.
“Rusts,” Marasi said, hurrying after him. “Could he be involved somehow?”
“With the Set? Not a chance. He hates Allomancers.”
“Enemy of my enemy…”
“Not the Ape,” Wax said. “He wouldn’t take the hand of a Metalborn trying to save him from slipping to his death.”
“So…”
“So he’s not part of this,” Wax said. “We ignore him. I’m here for my uncle.”
Marasi nodded, but seemed disturbed. They passed a Lurcher juggler, dropping balls and tugging them back up into the air—along with the occasional object from among the amused crowd of watchers. A waste of Allomantic abilities. And all these people. Suffocating. He had hoped that in leaving Elendel, he would escape crowded streets. He nearly pulled out his gun and fired a shot to clear them all away.
“Wax…” Marasi said, taking his arm.
“What.”
“What? Rusts, your stare could nail a person’s head to the wall right now!”
“I’m fine,” he said, pulling his arm away from her.
“This vendetta against your uncle is—”
“It’s not a vendetta.” Wax picked up his pace, striding through the crowd, mistcoat tassels flaring behind him. “You know what he’s doing.”
“No, and neither do you,” Marasi said.
“He’s breeding Allomancers,” Wax said. “Maybe Feruchemists. I don’t need to know his exact plan to know how bad that is. What if he’s making an army of Thugs and Coinshots? Twinborn. Compounders.”
“That might be true,” Marasi admitted. “But you aren’t chasing him because of any of that, are you? He beat you. In the Hundredlives case, Mister Suit got the best of you. Now you’re going to win the war where you lost the battle.”
He stopped in place, turning on her. “How petty do you think I am?”
“Considering what I just told you,” she said, “I’d say I consider you precisely that petty. It’s not wrong to be angry at Suit, Waxillium. He’s holding your sister. But rusts, please don’t let it cloud your judgment.”
He took a deep breath, then gestured toward the mansion up the street. “You want me to go chasing after the Ape instead?”
“No,” Marasi said, then blushed. “I agree that we need to stay focused on getting back the spike.”
“You’re here for the spike, Marasi,” Wax said. “I’m here to find Suit.” He nodded down the street, toward a discreet hotel sign, barely visible on the front of a building. “You go check us in. I’m going to fetch the others.”
* * *
“With this suite and the others, you’ll basically have the entire top floor to yourselves.” The hotel owner—who insisted upon being called Aunt Gin—beamed as she said it.
Wayne yawned, rubbing his eyes as he poked through the lavish room’s bar. “Great. Lovely. Can I have your hat?”
“My … hat?” The elderly woman looked up at the oversized hat. The sides drooped magnificently, and the thing was festooned with flowers. Like, oodles of them. Silk, he figured, but they were really good replicas.
“You have a lady friend?” Aunt Gin asked. “You wish to give her the hat?”
“Nah,” Wayne said. “I need to wear it next time I’m an old lady.”
“The next time you what?” Aunt Gin grew pale, but that was probably on account of the fact that Wax went stomping by, wearing his full rusting mistcoat. That man never could figure out how to blend in.
“Do these windows open?” Wax asked, pointing toward the penthouse suite’s enormous bay windows. He stepped up onto one of the sofas and shoved on the window.
“Well, they used to open,” Aunt Gin said. “But they rattled in the breezes, so we painted them shut and sealed the latches. Never could stand the thought of someone—”
Wax shoved one of them open, breaking off the latch and making a sharp cracking sound as the paint outside was ripped, perhaps some of the wood splintering.
“Lord Ladrian!” Aunt Gin said with a gasp.
“I’ll pay for the repairs,” Wax said, hopping off the couch. “I need that to open in case I have to jump out.”
“Jump—”
“Aha!” Wayne said, pulling open the bar’s bottom cabinet.
“Alcohol?” Marasi asked, walking by.
“Peanuts,” Wayne said, spitting out his gum and then popping a handful of nuts into his mouth. “I ain’t had nothin’ to eat since I swiped that fruit in Steris’s luggage.”
“What are you babbling about?” Steris asked from the couch, where she was writing in her notebook.