Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [793]
He threw his shoulder against the door with a bit more care, slamming it open but not breaking it. He moved into a well-lit room where four men sat playing chips at a table. Durn was winning.
Spook pointed at the men as he skidded to a stop. “You three. Out. Durn and I have business.”
Durn sat at the table, looking genuinely surprised. The brutes rushed up behind Spook, and he turned, falling to a crouch, reaching under his cloak for his dueling cane.
“It’s all right,” Durn said, standing. “Leave us.”
The guards hesitated, obviously angry at being passed so easily. Finally, however, they withdrew, Durn’s gambling partners going with them. The door closed.
“That was quite the entrance,” Durn noted, sitting back down at his table.
“You’ve been talking about me, Durn,” Spook said, turning. “I’ve heard people discussing me in taverns, mentioning your name. You’ve been spreading rumors about my death, telling people that I was on the Survivor’s crew. How did you know who I was, and why have you been using my name?”
“Oh, come now,” Durn said, scowling. “How anonymous did you think you were? You’re the Survivor’s friend, and you spend a good half your time living in the emperor’s own palace.”
“Luthadel’s a long way from here.”
“Not so far that news doesn’t travel,” Durn said. “A Tineye comes to town, spying about, flaunting seemingly endless funds? It wasn’t really that hard to figure out who you were. Besides, there’s your eyes.”
“What about them?” Spook asked.
The ugly man shrugged. “Everyone knows that strange things happen around the Survivor’s crew.”
Spook wasn’t certain what to make of that. He walked forward, looking over the cards on the table. He picked one up, feeling its paper. His heightened senses let him feel the bumps on the back.
“Marked cards?” he asked.
“Of course,” Durn said. “Practice game, to see if my men could read the patterns right.”
Spook tossed the card onto the table. “You still haven’t told me why you’ve been spreading rumors about me.”
“No offense, kid,” Durn said. “But . . . well, you’re supposed to be dead.”
“If you believed that, then why bother talking about me?”
“Why do you think?” Durn said. “The people love the Survivor—and anything related to him. That’s why Quellion uses his name so often. But, if I could show that Quellion killed one of Kelsier’s own crew . . . well, there are a lot of people in this city who wouldn’t like that.”
“So, you’re just trying to help,” Spook said flatly. “Out of the goodness of your heart.”
“You’re not the only one who thinks that Quellion is killing this city. If you’re really of the Survivor’s crew, you’ll know that sometimes, people fight.”
“I find it difficult to think of you as an altruist, Durn. You’re a thief.”
“So are you.”
“We didn’t know what we were getting into,” Spook said. “Kelsier promised us riches. How do you gain from all this?”
Durn snorted. “The Citizen is very bad for business. Venture red wine being sold for a fraction of a clip? Our smuggling has been choked to a trickle because everyone fears buying our goods. Things were never this bad under the Lord Ruler.” He leaned in. “If your friends staying in the old Ministry building think they can do something about that lunatic running this city, then tell them they’ll have my support. There isn’t a large underground left in this city, but Quellion will be surprised at the damage it can do if manipulated the right way.”
Spook stood quietly for a moment. “There’s a man milking for information in the tavern on Westbrook Lane. Send someone to contact him. He’s a Soother—the best one you’ll ever meet—but he stands out a bit. Make your offer to him.”
Durn nodded.
Spook turned to go, then glanced back at Durn. “Don’t mention my name to him, or what happened to me.”
With that, he left through the hallway, passing