Mistborn #01 The Final Empire

return to the mountain of souls.” He glanced at her. “I can teach you of the religion, if you wish, Mistress. The Cazzi were an interesting people—very familiar with death.”
    Vin shook her head. “Not right now. You said their prayer—is this the religion you believe in, then?”
    “I believe in them all.”
    Vin frowned. “None of them contradict each other?”
    Sazed smiled. “Oh, often and frequently they do. But, I respect the truths behind them all—and I believe in the need for each one to be remembered.”
    “Then, how did you decide which religion’s prayer to use?” Vin asked.
    “It just seemed . . . appropriate,” Sazed said quietly, regarding the scene of shadowed death.
    “Kell,” Dockson called from the back of the room. “Come look at this.”
    Kelsier moved to join him, as did Vin. Dockson stood by the long corridor-like chamber that had been her crew’s sleeping quarters. Vin poked her head inside, expecting to find a scene similar to the one in the common room. Instead, there was only a single corpse tied to a chair. In the weak light she could barely make out that his eyes had been gouged out.
    Kelsier stood quietly for a moment. “That’s the man I put in charge.”
    “Milev,” Vin said with a nod. “What about him?”
    “He was killed slowly,” Kelsier said. “Look at the amount of blood on the floor, the way his limbs are twisted. He had time to scream and struggle.”
    “Torture,” Dockson said, nodding.
    Vin felt a chill. She glanced up at Kelsier.
    “Shall we move our base?” Ham asked.
    Kelsier slowly shook his head. “When Clubs came to this lair, he would have worn a disguise to and from the meeting, hiding his limp. It’s his job as a Smoker to make certain that you can’t find him just by asking around on the street. None of the people in this crew could have betrayed us—we should still be safe.”
    No one spoke the obvious. The Inquisitor shouldn’t have been able to find this lair either.
    Kelsier stepped back into the main room, pulling Dockson aside and speaking to him in a quiet voice. Vin edged closer, trying to hear what they were saying, but Sazed placed a restraining hand on her shoulder.
    “Mistress Vin,” he said disapprovingly, “if Master Kelsier wanted us to hear what he was saying, would he not speak in a louder voice?”
    Vin shot the Terrisman an angry glance. Then she reached inside and burned tin.
    The sudden stench of blood almost staggered her. She could hear Sazed’s breathing. The room was no longer dark—in fact, the brilliant light of two lanterns made her eyes water. She became aware of the stuffy, unventilated air.
    And she could hear, quite distinctly, Dockson’s voice.
    “ . . . went to check on him a couple times, like you asked. You’ll find him three streets west of the Fourwell Crossroads.”
    Kelsier nodded. “Ham,” he said in a loud voice, causing Vin to jump.
    Sazed looked down at her with disapproving eyes.
    He knows something of Allomancy, Vin thought, reading the man’s expression. He guessed what I was doing.
    “Yes, Kell?” Ham said, peeking out of the back room.
    “Take the others back to the shop,” Kelsier said. “And be careful.”
    “Of course,” Ham promised.
    Vin eyed Kelsier, then resentfully allowed herself to be ushered from the lair with Sazed and Dockson.

    I should have taken the carriage, Kelsier thought, frustrated by his slow pace. The others could have walked back from Camon’s lair.
    He itched to burn steel and begin jumping toward his destination. Unfortunately, it was very difficult to remain inconspicuous when flying through the city during the full light of day.
    Kelsier adjusted his hat and continued walking. A nobleman pedestrian was not an irregular sight, especially in the commercial district, where more fortunate skaa and less fortunate noblemen mixed on the streets—though each group did its best to ignore the other.
    Patience. Speed doesn’t matter. If they know about him, he’s already dead.
    Kelsier entered a large crossroad square. Four wells sat in its corners, and a massive copper fountain—its green skin caked and blackened by soot—dominated the square’s center. The statue depicted the Lord Ruler, standing dramatically in cloak and armor, a formless representation of the Deepness dead in the water at his feet.
    Kelsier passed the fountain, its waters flaked from a recent ashfall. Skaa beggars called out from the streetsides, their pitiful voices