Mistborn #04 The Alloy of Law

You’re like that. You’re every bit the man I thought you might be, yet somehow more real at the same time.” She looked at him, eyes wide, lips pursed. As if she wanted to say more. He could read her intent in those eyes.
    “This isn’t going to work, Lady Marasi,” he said gently. “I’m thankful for your aid. Very thankful. But the thing you wish between us is not viable. I’m sorry.”
    Not unexpectedly, she blushed. “Of course. I wasn’t implying such a thing.” She forced a laugh. “Why would you think—I mean, it’s silly!”
    “I apologize, then,” he said. Though, of course, they both knew what the exchange had meant. He felt a deep regret. If I were ten years younger …
    It wasn’t the age per se. It was what those years had done to him. When you watched a woman you loved die by your own gunshot, when you saw an old colleague and respected lawkeeper turn bad, it did things to you. Ripped you up inside. And those wounds, they didn’t heal nearly as easily as the bodily ones.
    This woman was young, full of life. She didn’t deserve someone who was basically all scars wrapped up in a thick skin of sun-dried leather.
    Eventually, Constable-General Brettin walked over to them. He was as stiff-backed as before, constable’s hat carried under his arm. “Lord Waxillium,” he said in a monotone.
    “Constable-General.”
    “For your efforts today, I have requested that the Senate give you a citywide deputized forbearance.”
    Waxillium blinked in surprise.
    “If you are not aware,” Brettin continued, “this would give you powers of investigation and arrest, as if you were a member of the constabulary, sufficient to authorize actions such as those of last night.”
    “That is … very considerate of you,” Waxillium said.
    “It is one of the only ways to excuse your actions without drawing embarrassment down upon the precinct. I have backdated the request, and if we are in luck, nobody will realize you were working alone this past night. Also, I do not wish for you to feel that you need to work alone. This city could use your expertise.”
    “With all due respect, sir,” Waxillium said, “that’s quite a change from your previous stance.”
    “I have had occasion to change my mind,” Brettin said. “You should know that I will soon be retiring. A new constable-general will be appointed in my position, but he will be required to accept the Senate’s mandate regarding you, should this motion be accepted.”
    “I…” Waxillium was uncertain how to reply. “Thank you.”
    “It’s for the good of the City. Of course, note that if you abuse this privilege, it will undoubtedly be revoked.” Brettin nodded awkwardly and withdrew.
    Waxillium scratched at his chin, watching the man. Something decidedly odd was going on there. He was almost like a different person. Wayne passed him, tipping his lucky hat—which was bloodied on one side—and grinning as he approached Waxillium and Marasi.
    “Here,” Wayne said, covertly handing something wrapped in a handkerchief to Waxillium. It was unexpectedly heavy. “Got you another of those guns.”
    Waxillium sighed.
    “Don’t worry,” Wayne said, “I traded a real nice scarf for it.”
    “And where did you get the scarf?”
    “Off one of the dead blokes you shot,” Wayne said. “So it wasn’t stealin’. He ain’t gonna need it, after all.” He seemed quite proud of himself.
    Waxillium tucked the gun into his empty holster. The other holster held Vindication. Marasi had searched through the hideout after Miles was taken and had recovered it for him. That was good. It would have been sad to survive this night, only to have Ranette kill him.
    “So,” Marasi said, “you traded a dead man’s scarf for another dead man’s gun. But … the gun itself belonged to someone dead, so by the same logic—”
    “Don’t try,” Waxillium said. “Logic doesn’t work on Wayne.”
    “I bought a ward against it off a traveling fortune-teller,” Wayne explained. “It lets me add two ’n’ two and get a pickle.”
    “I … have no response to that,” Marasi said.
    “Technically that was a response,” Wayne said.
    “Looks like they fished that gunsmith outta the canal for you, Wax, and he’s alive. Not real happy, but alive.”
    “Has anyone found anything regarding the other women who were kidnapped?” Waxillium asked.
    Wayne glanced at Marasi, who shook her head. “Nothing. Maybe Miles will know where they are.”
    If