The Alloy of Law - Brandon Sanderson [15]
“What does that—”
Waxillium was interrupted by chimes sounding at the door again. “Rust and Ruin! These are high-class people, Wayne. I’ve spent months persuading them that I’m not a ruffian. I need you out of here.” Waxillium walked forward, trying to usher his friend toward the far exit.
“Now, that’s right suspicious behavior, innit?” Wayne said, scrawling something on his notepad. “Dodging questions, acting all anxious. What are you hiding, sir?”
“Wayne,” Waxillium said, grabbing the other man’s arm. “Part of me is appreciative that you’d come all this way to aggravate me, and I am glad to see you. But now is not the time.”
Wayne grinned. “You assume I’m here for you. Don’t you think that’s a pinch arrogant?”
“What else would you be here for?”
“Shipment of foodstuffs,” Wayne said. “Railway car left Elendel four days ago and arrived in Weathering with the entire contents of a single car empty. Now, I hear that you recently lost two shipments of your own to these ‘Vanishers.’ I’ve come to question you. Right suspicious, as I said.”
“Suspicious … Wayne, I lost two shipments. I’m the one who got robbed! Why would that make me a suspect?”
“How am I to know how your devious, criminal genius mind works, mate?”
Footsteps sounded outside the room. Waxillium glanced at the door, then back at Wayne. “Right now, my criminal genius mind is wondering if I can stuff your corpse anywhere that wouldn’t be too obvious.”
Wayne grinned, stepping back.
The door opened.
Waxillium spun, looking as Limmi sheepishly held the door open. A corpulent man in a very fine suit stood there, holding a dark wooden cane. He had mustaches that drooped all the way down to his thick neck, and his waistcoat framed a deep red cravat.
“… saying it doesn’t matter whom he’s seeing!” Lord Harms said. “He’ll want to speak with me! We had an appointment, and…” Lord Harms paused, realizing the door was open. “Ah!” He strode into the room.
He was followed by a stern-looking woman with golden hair fixed into a tight bun—his daughter, Steris—and a younger woman who Waxillium didn’t recognize.
“Lord Ladrian,” Harms said, “I find it very unbefitting to be made to wait. And who is this that you’re meeting with in my stead?”
Waxillium sighed. “It’s my old—”
“Uncle!” Wayne said, stepping forward, voice altered to sound gruff and lose all of its rural accent. “I’m his uncle Maksil. Popped in unexpectedly this morning, my dear man.”
Waxillium raised an eyebrow as Wayne stepped forward. He’d removed his hat and duster, and had plastered his upper lip with a realistic-looking fake mustache with a bit of gray in it. He was scrunching his face up just slightly to produce a few extra wrinkles at the eyes. It was a good disguise, making him look like he might be a few years older than Waxillium, rather than ten years younger.
Waxillium glanced over his shoulder. The duster sat folded on the floor beside one of the couches, hat atop it, a pair of dueling canes lying crossed beside the pile. Waxillium hadn’t even noticed the swap—of course, Wayne had naturally done it while inside a speed bubble. Wayne was a Slider, a bendalloy Allomancer, capable of creating a bubble of compressed time around himself. He often used the power to change costumes.
He was also Twinborn, like Waxillium, though his Feruchemical ability—healing quickly from wounds—wasn’t so useful outside of combat. Still, the two made for a very potent combination.
“Uncle, you say?” Lord Harms asked, taking Wayne’s hand and shaking it.
“On the mother’s side!” Wayne said. “Not the Ladrian side, of course. Otherwise I’d be running this place, eh?” He sounded nothing like himself, but that was Wayne’s specialty. He said that three-quarters of a disguise was in the accent and voice. “I’ve wanted for a long time to come check up on the lad. He’s had something of a rough-and-tumble past, you