The Mistborn Trilogy (214 page)

SOMETIMES, SPOOK FORGOT THE MIST
was even there. It had become such a pale, translucent thing to him. Nearly invisible. Stars in the sky blazed like a million limelights shining down on him. It was a beauty only he could see.

He turned, looking across the burned remains of the building. Skaa workers carefully sifted through the mess. It was hard for Spook to remember that they couldn’t see well in the night’s darkness. He had to keep them packed closely together, working as much by touch as by sight.

The scent was, of course, terrible. Yet, burning pewter seemed to help mitigate that. Perhaps the strength it gave him extended to his ability to avoid unintentional reactions, such as retching or coughing. During his youth, he had wondered about the pairing of tin and pewter. Other Allomantic pairs were opposites—steel Pushed on metals, iron Pulled on them. Copper hid Allomancers, bronze revealed Allomancers. Zinc enflamed emotions, brass depressed them. Yet, tin and pewter didn’t seem opposites—one enhanced the body, the other the senses.

And yet, these
were
opposites. Tin made his sense of touch so sharp that each step had once been uncomfortable. Pewter enhanced his body, making it resistant to pain—and so as he picked his way across the blackened ruin, his feet didn’t hurt as much. In a similar way, where light had once blinded him, pewter let him endure far more before needing his blindfold.

The two were opposites, yet complements—just like the other pairs of Allomantic metals. He felt
right
having the one to go with the other. How had he survived without pewter? He had been a man with only one half of an ability. Now he was complete.

And yet, he did wonder what it would be like to have the other powers too. Kelsier had given him pewter. Could he, perhaps, bless Spook with iron and steel as well?

A man directed the line of working figures. His name was Franson; he was the one who had asked Spook to rescue his sister. The execution was only a day away. Soon, the child would be thrown into a burning building of her own, but Spook was working on ways to stop that. There wasn’t much he could do at the moment. So, in the meantime, Franson and his men dug.

It had been some time since Spook had gone to spy on the Citizen and his councillors. He’d shared the information he’d gleaned with Sazed and Breeze, and they’d seemed appreciative. However, with the increased security around the Citizen’s home, they’d suggested that it was foolhardy to risk more spying until they’d figured out their plans for the city. Spook had accepted their guidance, though he felt himself growing anxious. He missed going to see Beldre, the quiet girl with the lonely eyes.

He didn’t know her. He couldn’t fool himself that he did. Yet, when they’d met and spoken that once, she hadn’t screamed or betrayed him. She’d seemed intrigued by him. That was a good sign, right?

Fool,
he thought.
She’s the Citizen’s own sister! Talking to her nearly got you killed. Focus on the task at hand.

Spook watched the work for a time longer. Finally, Franson—dirty and exhausted in the starlight—approached him. “My lord,” Franson said, “we’ve gone over this section four times now. The men in the basement pit have moved all the debris and ash to the sides, and have sifted through it twice. Whatever we were going to find, we’ve found it.”

Spook nodded. Franson was probably right. Spook removed a small pouch from his pocket, handing it to Franson. It clinked, and the large skaa man raised an eyebrow.

“Payment,” Spook said, “for the other men. They’ve worked here for three nights.”

“They’re friends, my lord,” he said. “They just want to see my sister rescued.”

“Pay them anyway,” Spook said. “And tell them to spend the coins on food and supplies as soon as they can—before Quellion abolishes coinage in the city.”

“Yes, my lord,” Franson said. Then, he glanced to the side, where a mostly burned banister still stood upright. This is where the workers had placed the objects they had located in the wreckage: nine human skulls. They cast eerie shadows in the starlight. Leering, burned, and blackened.

“My lord,” Franson said. “May I ask the point of this?”

“I watched this building burn down,” Spook said. “I was there when these poor people were herded into the mansion, then locked inside. I couldn’t do anything.”

“I’m . . . sorry, my lord,” Franson said.

Spook shook his head. “It’s past now. However, there is something their deaths can teach us.”

“My lord?”

Spook regarded the skulls. The day Spook had watched this building burn—the first time he had witnessed one of the Citizen’s executions—Durn had told him something. Spook had wanted information about the Citizen’s weaknesses, something to help him beat the man. Durn had only said one thing in response to this.

Count the skulls.

Spook had never had the chance to investigate that tip. He knew Durn would probably explain himself if pushed, but they both seemed to understand something important. Spook needed to see it for himself. He needed to know what the Citizen was doing.

And now he did. “Ten people were sent into this building to die, Franson,” Spook said. “Ten people. Nine skulls.”

The man frowned. “What does that tell us?”

“It tells us there’s a way to get your sister out.”

“I’m not certain what to make of this, Lord Breeze,” Sazed said. They sat at a table in one of Urteau’s skaa bars. The alcohol flowed freely, and skaa workers packed the place, despite the darkness and the mists.

“What do you mean?” Breeze asked. They sat alone, though Goradel and three of his toughs sat wearing street clothing at the next table over.

“This is very strange to me,” Sazed said. “Skaa having their own bars is odd enough. But, skaa going out at night?”

Breeze shrugged. “Perhaps their fear of the night was more a product of the Lord Ruler’s influence than the mists. With his troops on the streets watching for thieves, there were reasons other than mist to stay inside at night.”

Sazed shook his head. “I have studied these things, Lord Breeze. The skaa fear of the mists was an ingrained superstitious mind-set—it was a part of their lives. And, Quellion has broken it down in little over a year.”

“Oh, I think the wine and beer probably did the breaking,” Breeze noted. “You’d be surprised at what men will go through in order to get themselves properly intoxicated.”

Sazed eyed Breeze’s own cup—the man had taken quite a liking to the skaa bars, despite the fact that he was forced to wear very mundane clothing. Of course, the clothing probably wasn’t necessary anymore. If the city had even a halfway decent rumor mill, people would have already connected Breeze to the visitors who had met with Quellion a few days before. And, now that Sazed had come to the bar, any suspicions would have been confirmed. There was no way to
hide Sazed’s identity. His nationality was obvious. He was too tall, too bald, and he had the typical Terris long face with drooping features and earlobes stretched out by the application of numerous earrings.

The time for anonymity had passed, though Breeze had used it well. During the few days when people hadn’t known who he was, he’d managed to build both goodwill and contacts in the local underground. Now, he and Sazed could sit and enjoy a quiet drink without really drawing much attention. Breeze would, of course, be Soothing the people to ensure that—but, even so, Sazed was impressed. For one as fond of high society as Breeze, the man did a remarkable job of relating to ordinary skaa workers.

A group of men laughed at the next table, and Breeze smiled, then stood and made his way over to join them. Sazed remained where he was, a mug of untouched wine on the table before him. In his opinion, there was an obvious reason why the skaa were no longer afraid to go out in the mists. Their superstitions had been overcome by something stronger: Kelsier. The one they were now calling the Lord of the Mists.

The Church of the Survivor had spread much further than Sazed had expected. It wasn’t organized the same way in Urteau as in Luthadel, and the focus seemed to be different, but the fact remained that men were worshipping Kelsier. In fact, the differences were part of what made the whole phenomenon fascinating.

What am I missing?
Sazed thought.
What is the connection here?

The mists killed. Yet, these people went out in the mists. Why weren’t the people terrified of them?

This is not my problem,
Sazed told himself.
I need to remain focused. I’ve let my studies of the religions in my portfolio lapse.
He was getting close to being finished, and that worried him. So far, every single religion had proven full of inconsistencies, contradictions, and logical flaws. He was growing more and more worried that, even among the hundreds of religions in his metalminds, he would never be able to find the truth.

A wave from Breeze distracted him. So, Sazed stood—forcing himself not to show the despair he felt—and moved over to the table. The men there made room.

“Thank you,” Sazed said, sitting.

“You forgot your cup, friend Terrisman,” one of the men pointed out.

“I apologize,” Sazed said. “I have never been one fond of intoxicants. Please, do not take offense. Your thoughtful gift was nevertheless appreciated.”

“Does he always talk like that?” one of the men asked, looking at Breeze.

“You’ve never known a Terrismen, have you?” asked another.

Sazed flushed, to which Breeze chuckled, laying a hand on Sazed’s shoulder. “All right, gentlemen. I’ve brought you the Terrisman, as requested. Go ahead, ask your questions.”

There were six local men at the table—all mine workers, from what Sazed could tell. One of the men leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him, knuckles scarred by rock. “Breeze here says a lot of things,” the man said in a low
voice. “But people like him always make promises. Quellion said a lot of the same things a year ago, when he was taking control after Straff Venture left.”

“Yes,” Sazed. “I can understand your skepticism.”

“But,” the man said, raising a hand. “Terrismen don’t lie. They’re good people. Everyone knows that—lords, skaa, thieves, and obligators.”

“So, we wanted to talk to you,” another of the men said. “Maybe you’re different; maybe you’ll lie to us. But, better to hear it from a Terrisman than a Soother.”

Breeze blinked, revealing just a faint hint of surprise. Apparently, he hadn’t realized they’d been aware of his abilities.

“Ask your questions,” Sazed said.

“Why did you come to this city?” one of the men asked.

“To take control of it,” Sazed said.

“Why do you care?” another asked. “Why does Venture’s son even want Urteau?”

“Two reasons,” Sazed said. “First, because of the resources it offers. I cannot go into details, but suffice it to say that your city is very desirable for economic reasons. The second reason, however, is equally important. Lord Elend Venture is one of the best men I have ever known. He believes he can do better for this people than the current government.”

“That wouldn’t be hard,” one of the men grumbled.

Another man shook his head. “What? You want to give the city back to the Ventures? One year, and you’ve forgotten the things that Straff used to do in this city?”

“Elend Venture is not his father,” Sazed said. “He is a man worthy of being followed.”

“And the Terris people?” one of the skaa asked. “Do they follow him?”

“In a way,” Sazed said. “Once, my people tried to rule themselves, as your people now do. However, they realized the advantages of an alliance. My people have moved to the Central Dominance, and they accept the protection of Elend Venture.”
Of course,
Sazed thought,
they’d rather follow me. If I would be their king.

The table fell silent.

“I don’t know,” one of the men said. “What business do we have even talking about this? I mean, Quellion is in charge, and these strangers don’t have an army to take his throne away from him. What’s the point?”

“The Lord Ruler fell to us when we had no army,” Breeze pointed out, “and Quellion himself seized the government from noble rule. Change can occur.”

“We’re not trying to form an army or rebellion,” Sazed quickly added. “We just want you to start . . . thinking. Talking with your friends. You are obviously influential men. Perhaps if Quellion hears of discontent among his people, he will begin to change his ways.”

“Maybe,” one of the men said.

“We don’t need these outsiders,” the other man repeated. “The Survivor of the Flames has come to deal with Quellion.”

Sazed blinked.
Survivor of the Flames?
He caught a sly smile on Breeze’s lips—the Soother had apparently heard the term before, and now he appeared to be watching Sazed for a reaction.

“The Survivor doesn’t enter into this,” one of the men said. “I can’t believe we’re even
thinking
of rebellion. Most of the world is in chaos, if you hear the reports! Shouldn’t we just be happy with what we’ve got?”

The Survivor?
Sazed thought.
Kelsier? But, they seem to have given him a new title. Survivor of the Flames?

“You’re starting to twitch, Sazed,” Breeze whispered. “You might as well just ask. No harm in asking, right?”