Mistborn #04 The Alloy of Law

deftly folded it in the proper style, and slipped it into his breast pocket. A sudden chiming rang through the mansion.
    “Rust and Ruin,” Waxillium cursed, checking his pocket watch. “They’re early.”
    “Lord Harms is known for his punctuality, my lord.”
    “Wonderful. Well, let’s get this over with.” Waxillium strode out into the hallway, boots gliding on the green velvet-cut rug. The mansion had changed little during his two-decade absence. Even after six months of living here, it still didn’t feel like it was his . The faint smell of his uncle’s pipe smoke still lingered, and the decor was marked by a fondness for deep dark woods and heavy stone sculpture. Despite modern tastes, there were almost no portraits or paintings. As Waxillium knew, many of those had been valuable, and had been sold before his uncle’s death.
    Tillaume walked alongside him, hands clasped behind his back. “My lord sounds as though he considers this day’s duty to be a chore.”
    “Is it that obvious?” Waxillium grimaced. What did it say about him that he’d rather face down a nest of outlaws—outgunned and outmanned—than meet with Lord Harms and his daughter?
    A plump, matronly woman waited at the end of the hallway, wearing a black dress and a white apron. “Oh, Lord Ladrian,” she said with fondness. “Your mother would be so pleased to see this day!”
    “Nothing has been decided yet, Miss Grimes,” Waxillium said as the woman joined the two of them, walking along the balustrade of the second-floor gallery.
    “She did so hope that you’d marry a fine lady someday,” Miss Grimes said. “You should have heard how she worried, all those years.”
    Waxillium tried to ignore the way those words twisted at his heart. He hadn’t heard how his mother worried. He’d hardly ever taken time to write his parents or his sister, and had only visited that one time, just after the railway reached Weathering.
    Well, he was making good on his obligations now. Six months of work, and he was finally getting his feet under him and pulling House Ladrian—along with its many forgeworkers and seamstresses—from the brink of financial collapse. The last step came today.
    Waxillium reached the top of the staircase, then hesitated. “No,” he said, “I mustn’t rush in. Need to give them time to make themselves comfortable.”
    “That is—” Tillaume began, but Waxillium cut him off by turning the other way and marching back along the balustrade.
    “Miss Grimes,” Waxillium said, “are there other matters that will need my attention today?”
    “You wish to hear of them now?” she asked, frowning as she bustled to keep up.
    “Anything to keep my mind occupied, dear woman,” Waxillium said. Rust and Ruin … he was so nervous that he caught himself reaching inside his jacket to finger the grip of his Immerling 44-S.
    It was a fine weapon; not as good as one of Ranette’s make, but a proper, and small, sidearm for a gentleman. He’d decided he would be a lord, and not a lawman, but that didn’t mean he was going to go about unarmed. That … well, that would just be plain insane.
    “There is one matter,” Miss Grimes said, grimacing. She was the Ladrian house steward, and had been for the last twenty years. “We lost another shipment of steel last night.”
    Waxillium froze on the walkway. “What? Again!”
    “Unfortunately, my lord.”
    “Damn it. I’m starting to think the thieves are targeting only us.”
    “It’s only our second shipment,” she said. “House Tekiel has lost five shipments so far.”
    “What are the details?” he asked. “The disappearance. Where did it happen?”
    “Well—”
    “No, don’t tell me,” he said, raising a hand. “I can’t afford to be distracted.”
    Miss Grimes gave him a flat look, since that was probably why she’d avoided telling him about it before his meeting with Lord Harms. Waxillium rested a hand on the railing, and felt his left eye twitch. Someone was out there, running an organized, highly efficient operation stealing the contents of entire railcars. They were being called the Vanishers. Perhaps he could poke around a little and …
    No, he told himself sternly. It is not my duty. Not anymore. He would go to the proper authorities, perhaps hire some guards or personal investigators. He would not go chasing bandits himself.
    “I’m sure the constables will find those responsible and bring them to justice,” Waxillium said with some