The Alloy of Law - Brandon Sanderson [100]
“Yes.”
Harmony, he thought. She trusts me. Too much, probably. He reached up, squaring off a box of notes. “This is your part.”
“I won’t be in the train car with you?” She sounded worried.
“No,” Waxillium said. “You and Wayne will watch from the hilltop.”
“You’ll be alone.”
“I will.”
She fell silent. “You knew what I was thinking of you. What are you thinking of me, Lord Waxillium?”
He smiled. “If the game is to work the same way, I can’t tell you my thoughts. You need to guess them.”
“You are thinking about how young I am,” she said. “And you’re worried about having me involved, lest I be hurt.”
“Hardly a difficult guess. So far, I’ve given you what … three opportunities to abandon this course and seek safety?”
“You’re also thinking,” she said, “that you’re glad I insist on staying, because I will be useful. Life has taught you to use the resources you have.”
“Better,” he said.
“You think I’m clever, as you have stated. But you also worry that I get flustered too easily, and worry it will be used against you.”
“Do those records you’ve read talk about Paclo the Dusty?”
“Sure. He was one of your deputies before you met Wayne.”
“He was a good friend,” Waxillium said. “And a solid lawman. But I’ve never met a man who was as easy to startle as Paclo. A softly closed door could make him yelp.”
She frowned.
“I assume the records didn’t talk about that,” Waxillium said.
“They depict him as very brave.”
“He was brave, Lady Marasi. You see, many people mistake startlement for cowardice. Yes, a gunshot would make Paclo jump. Then he’d run to see what had caused it. I once saw him stare down six men with guns trained on him, and he didn’t break a sweat.”
He turned to her. “You are inexperienced. So was I, once. So is every man. The measure of a person is not how much they have lived. It is not how easily they jump at a noise or how quick they are to show emotion. It’s in how they make use of what life has shown them.”
Her blush deepened. “I’m also thinking that you like to lecture.”
“It comes with the lawman’s badge.”
“You don’t … wear that anymore.”
“A man can take it off, Lady Marasi. But he can never stop wearing it.”
He met her gaze. She looked up with eyes that were deep, reflective, like the water of an unexpected spring in the Roughs. He steeled himself. He would be bad for her. Very bad. He’d thought the same of Lessie, and he had been right.
“There’s another thing I’m thinking about you,” she said softly. “Can you guess it?”
All too well.
With reluctance, he broke her gaze and looked at the pad. “Yes. You are thinking that I should talk Ranette into lending you a rifle. I agree. While I do think that it would be wise of you to train with a revolver eventually, I’d rather you spend this particular encounter with a weapon you use well. Maybe we can find a rifle that will fit those aluminum rounds Wayne grabbed.”
“Oh. Of course.”
Waxillium pretended not to notice her embarrassment.
“I think,” Marasi said, “that I’ll go check on Wayne and Ranette.”
“Good idea. Hopefully she hasn’t discovered that he took one of her guns to trade.”
Marasi withdrew, walking to the door in haste.
“Lady Marasi?” Waxillium called.
She hesitated at the door, turning, hopeful.
“You did a good job of reading me,” he said, nodding in respect. “Not many can do that. I’m not known to be free with my emotions.”
“Advanced interrogation techniques class,” she said. “And … uh, I’ve read your psychological profile.”
“I have a psychological profile?”
“Yes, I’m afraid. Doctor Murnbru wrote it after his visit to Weathering.”
“That little rat Murnbru was a psychologist?” Waxillium said, genuinely baffled. “I was sure he was a gambling cheat, passing through town looking for marks to swindle.”
“Er, yes. That’s in the profile. You, uh, have a tendency to think anyone who wears too much red is a chronic gambler.”
“I do?”
She nodded.
“Damn,” he said. I’m going to need to read that thing.
She left and pulled the door closed. He turned back to his plan once again. He raised