The Alloy of Law - Brandon Sanderson [59]
The boy frowned.
“Takes a special type to be a proper criminal,” Wayne explained. “You ain’t that type. You see, in this conversation, I tricked you into confirming the name of the guy who recruited you and giving the location of your base.”
The youth grew pale. “But…”
“Don’t worry,” Wayne said. “I’m on your side, remember? You’re just lucky that I am.”
“Yeah.”
“All right,” Wayne said, lowering his voice, remaining still. “I don’t know if I can get you out by force. Face it, kid, you’re not worth it. But I can help you. I want you to talk to the constables.”
“What?”
“Give me until evening,” Wayne said. “I’ll go back to the base and clear the place out. Once that’s done, you can sing to the conners, tell them everything you know. Don’t worry, you weren’t told enough to get us into real trouble. Our contingency plans will protect us. I’ll tell the boss I told you to do it, and so you’ll be all right.
“But don’t talk to them until they promise to let you go free in return. Get a solicitor into the room; ask for one by the name of Arintol. He’s supposed to be honest.” At least, that was what people on the streets had told Wayne. “Get the conners to promise you freedom with Arintol in the room. Then, tell them everything you know.
“Once you’re out, get away from the City. Some of the gang may not believe that I told you to talk, so it could be dangerous for you. Go to the Roughs and become a millworker. Nobody will care, there. Either way, kid, stay out of crime. You’ll just end up getting someone killed. Maybe you.”
“I…” The youth looked relieved. “Thank you.”
Wayne winked. “Now, resist everything I ask you from here out.” He started coughing and dropped the speed bubble.
“—that I can’t hear,” Brettin said, “I’m stopping this right here.”
“Fine!” Wayne yelled. “Boy, tell me who you work for.”
“I ain’t giving you anything, conner!”
“You’ll talk, or I’ll have your toes!” Wayne yelled back.
The kid got into it, and Wayne gave the constables a good five minutes of arguing before throwing up his hands and storming out.
“I told you,” Brettin said.
“Yeah,” Wayne said, trying to sound dejected. “Guess you’ll just have to keep working on them.”
“It won’t work,” Brettin said. “I’ll be dead and buried before these men talk.”
“We could only be so lucky,” Wayne said.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” Wayne said, sniffing the air. “I believe that the scones have arrived. Excellent! At least this trip won’t be a complete waste.”
9
“So we aren’t sure yet what happened,” Waxillium said, sitting on the floor beside the long sheet of paper covered with his genealogical results. “The Words of Founding included a reference to two more metals and their alloys. But the ancients believed in sixteen metals, and the Law of Sixteen holds so strongly in nature that it can’t be disregarded. Either Harmony changed the way that Allomancy itself works, or we never really understood it.”
“Hmmm,” Marasi said, sitting on the floor with her knees to the side. “I would not have expected that from you, Lord Waxillium. Lawman I had anticipated. Metallurgist, perhaps. But philosopher?”
“There is a link between being a lawman and a philosopher,” Waxillium said, smiling idly. “Lawkeeping and philosophy are both about questions. I was drawn to law by a need to find the answers nobody else could, to capture the men everyone considered uncatchable. Philosophy is similar. Questions, secrets, puzzles. The human mind and the nature of the universe—the two great riddles of time.”
She nodded thoughtfully.
“What was it for you?” Waxillium asked. “One does not often meet a young woman of means studying law.”
“My means are not so … meaningful as they may seem at first,” she said. “I would be nothing without my uncle’s patronage.”
“Still.”
“Stories,” she said, smiling wistfully. “Stories of the good and the evil. Most people you meet, they aren’t quite either one.”
Waxillium frowned. “I’d disagree. Most people seem basically good.”
“Well, perhaps by one definition. But it seems that