Mistborn #01 The Final Empire

with a tentative hand. The meeting had ended a short time earlier, Breeze, Ham, and Yeden leaving to ponder the things Kelsier had told them. Vin felt that she should have left as well, but she had nowhere to go. Dockson and Kelsier seemed to take it for granted that she would remain with them.
    Kelsier took a long sip of the rubicund wine, then smiled. “Ah, that’s much better.”
    Dockson nodded in agreement, but Vin didn’t taste her own drink.
    “We’re going to need another Smoker,” Dockson noted.
    Kelsier nodded. “The others seemed to take it well, though.”
    “Breeze is still uncertain,” Dockson said.
    “He won’t back out. Breeze likes a challenge, and he’ll never find a challenge greater than this one.” Kelsier smiled. “Besides, it’d drive him insane to know that we were pulling a job that he wasn’t in on.”
    “Still, he’s right to be apprehensive,” Dockson said. “I’m a little worried myself.”
    Kelsier nodded his agreement, and Vin frowned. So, are they serious about the plan? Or is this still a show for my sake? The two men seemed so competent. Yet, overthrowing the Final Empire? They’d sooner stop the mists from flowing or the sun from rising.
    “When do your other friends get here?” Dockson asked.
    “A couple days,” Kelsier said. “We’ll need to have another Smoker by then. I’m also going to need some more atium.”
    Dockson frowned. “Already?”
    Kelsier nodded. “I spent most of it buying OreSeur’s Contract, then used my last bit at Tresting’s plantation.”
    Tresting. The nobleman who had been killed in his manor the week before. How was Kelsier involved? And, what was it Kelsier said before about atium? He’d claimed that the Lord Ruler kept control of the high nobility by maintaining a monopoly on the metal.
    Dockson rubbed his bearded chin. “Atium’s not easy to come by, Kell. It took nearly eight months of planning to steal you that last bit.”
    “That’s because you had to be delicate,” Kelsier said with a devious smile.
    Dockson eyed Kelsier with a look of slight apprehension. Kelsier just smiled more broadly, and finally Dockson rolled his eyes, sighing. Then he glanced at Vin. “You haven’t touched your drink.”
    Vin shook her head.
    Dockson waited for an explanation, and eventually Vin was forced to respond. “I don’t like to drink anything I didn’t prepare myself.”
    Kelsier chuckled. “She reminds me of Vent.”
    “Vent?” Dockson said with a snort. “The lass is a bit paranoid, but she’s not that bad. I swear, that man was so jumpy that his own heartbeat could startle him.”
    The two men shared a laugh. Vin, however, was only made more uncomfortable by the friendly air. What do they expect from me? Am I to be an apprentice of some sort?
    “Well, then,” Dockson said, “are you going to tell me how you plan on getting yourself some atium?”
    Kelsier opened his mouth to respond, but the stairs clattered with the sound of someone coming down. Kelsier and Dockson turned; Vin, of course, had seated herself so she could see both entrances to the room without having to move.
    Vin expected the newcomer to be one of Camon’s crewmembers, sent to see if Kelsier was done with the lair yet. Therefore, she was completely surprised when the door swung open to reveal the surly, gnarled face of the man called Clubs.
    Kelsier smiled, eyes twinkling.
    He’s not surprised. Pleased, perhaps, but not surprised.
    “Clubs,” Kelsier said.
    Clubs stood in the doorway, giving the three of them an impressively disapproving stare. Finally, he hobbled into the room. A thin, awkward-looking teenage boy followed him.
    The boy fetched Clubs a chair and put it by Kelsier’s table. Clubs settled down, grumbling slightly to himself. Finally, he eyed Kelsier with a squinting, wrinkle-nosed expression. “The Soother is gone?”
    “Breeze?” Kelsier asked. “Yes, he left.”
    Clubs grunted. Then he eyed the bottle of wine.
    “Help yourself,” Kelsier said.
    Clubs waved for the boy to go fetch him a cup from the bar, then turned back to Kelsier. “I had to be sure,” he said. “Never can trust yourself when a Soother is around—especially one like him.”
    “You’re a Smoker, Clubs,” Kelsier said. “He couldn’t do much to you, not if you didn’t want him to.”
    Clubs shrugged. “I don’t like Soothers. It’s not just Allomancy—men like that . . . well, you can’t trust that you aren’t being manipulated when