Mistborn #01 The Final Empire

my dear man,” Ham said, imitating Breeze’s accent, “you are, by far, the best butt we have.”
    “Oh, please,” Breeze said as Spook nearly collapsed to the floor with laughter. “This is just getting juvenile. The teenage boy was the only one who found that comment amusing, Hammond.”
    “I’m a soldier,” Ham said, raising his cup. “Your witty verbal attacks have no effect on me, for I’m far too dense to understand them.”
    Kelsier chuckled, leaning back against the cupboard. One problem with working at night was that he missed the evening gatherings in Clubs’s kitchen. Breeze and Ham continued their general banter. Dox sat at the end of the table, going over ledgers and reports, while Spook sat by Ham eagerly, trying his best to take part in the conversation. Clubs sat in his corner, overseeing, occasionally smiling, and generally enjoying his ability to give the best scowls in the room.
    “I should be leaving, Master Kelsier,” Sazed said, checking the wall clock. “Mistress Vin should be about ready to leave.”
    Kelsier nodded. “I should get going myself. I still have to—”
    The outside kitchen door slammed open. Vin stood silhouetted by the dark mist, wearing nothing but her dressing undergarments—a flimsy white shirt and shorts. Both were sprayed with blood.
    “Vin!” Ham exclaimed, standing.
    Her cheek bore a long, thin gash, and she had a bandage tied on one forearm. “I’m fine,” she said wearily.
    “What happened to your dress?” Dockson immediately demanded.
    “You mean this?” Vin asked apologetically, holding up a ripped, soot-stained blue mass of cloth. “It . . . got in the way. Sorry, Dox.”
    “Lord Ruler, girl!” Breeze said. “Forget the dress—what happened to you! ”
    Vin shook her head, shutting the door. Spook blushed furiously at her outfit, and Sazed immediately moved over, checking the wound on her cheek.
    “I think I did something bad,” Vin said. “I . . . kind of killed Shan Elariel.”
    “You did what ?” Kelsier asked as Sazed tisked quietly, leaving the small cheek cut alone as he undid the bandage on her arm.
    Vin flinched slightly at Sazed’s ministrations. “She was Mistborn. We fought. I won.”
    You killed a fully-trained Mistborn? Kelsier thought with shock. You’ve practiced for barely eight months!
    “Master Hammond,” Sazed requested, “would you fetch my healer’s bag?”
    Ham nodded, rising.
    “You might want to grab her something to wear too,” Kelsier suggested. “I think poor Spook’s about to have a heart attack.”
    “What’s wrong with this?” Vin asked, nodding toward her clothing. “It’s not that much more revealing than some of the thief’s clothing I’ve worn.”
    “Those are undergarments, Vin,” Dockson said.
    “So?”
    “It’s the principle of the matter,” Dockson said. “Young ladies do not run around in their undergarments, no matter how much those undergarments may resemble regular clothing.”
    Vin shrugged, sitting as Sazed held a bandage to her arm. She seemed . . . exhausted. And not just from the fighting. What else happened at that party?
    “Where did you fight the Elariel woman?” Kelsier asked.
    “Outside Keep Venture,” Vin said, looking down. “I . . . think some of the guards spotted me. Some of the nobles might have too, I’m not certain.”
    “That’s going to be trouble,” Dockson said, sighing. “Of course, that cheek wound is going to be pretty obvious, even with makeup. Honestly, you Allomancers . . . Don’t you ever worry about what you’re going to look like the day after you get into one of these fights?”
    “I was kind of focused on staying alive, Dox,” Vin said.
    “He’s just complaining because he’s worried about you,” Kelsier said as Ham returned with the bag. “That’s what he does.”
    “Both wounds will require immediate stitching, Mistress,” Sazed said. “The one on your arm hit the bone, I think.”
    Vin nodded, and Sazed rubbed her arm with a numbing agent, then began to work. She bore it without much visible discomfort—though she obviously had her pewter flared.
    She looks so exhausted, Kelsier thought. She was such a frail-looking thing, mostly just arms and legs. Hammond put a cloak around her shoulders, but she appeared too tired to care.
    And I brought her into this.
    Of course, she should know better than to get herself into this kind of trouble. Eventually, Sazed finished his efficient sewing, then tied a new