Mistborn #04 The Alloy of Law

all fairly closely related, third or fourth cousins, some first.
    Waxillium looked up, and noticed Marasi smiling broadly, regarding him and Wayne.
    “What?” Waxillium asked.
    “I knew it!” she exclaimed. “I knew you were in town to investigate the Vanishers. You showed up to become house lord only one month after the first robbery happened. You’re going to catch them, aren’t you?”
    “Is that why you insisted that Lord Harms bring you to meetings with me?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Marasi,” Waxillium said, sighing. “You’re jumping to conclusions. Do you think the deaths in my family, making me house lord, were fabrications?”
    “Well, no,” she said. “But I was surprised that you’d accepted the title until I realized that you probably saw it as a chance to find out what is going on with these robberies. You have to admit, they are unusual.”
    “So is Wayne,” Waxillium said. “But I wouldn’t uproot myself, change my entire lifestyle, and accept responsibility for an entire house just to study him.”
    “Look, Wax,” Wayne jumped in—ignoring the barb, which was unusual for him. “Please tell me you brought a gun with you.”
    “What? No, I didn’t.” Waxillium folded up the paper and handed it back. “Why would you care?”
    “Because,” Wayne said, snatching the paper from his hand and leaning in. “Don’t you see? The thieves are looking for places they can rob where the wealthy upper class of Elendel can be found—because among those wealthy upper-class types, they find their targets. People with the right heritage. Those types, rich types, have stopped traveling on the railway.”
    Waxillium nodded. “Yes, if the women really are the true targets, the high-profile robberies will make potential future targets much less likely to travel. A valid connection. That must be why the thieves attacked the theater.”
    “And where else are there wealthy individuals with the right heritage?” Wayne asked. “A place where people wear their finest jewelry, which will let you rob them as a distraction? A place where you can find the right hostage to take as the real prize?”
    Waxillium’s mouth grew dry. “A large wedding reception.”
    The doors at both ends of the ballroom suddenly burst open.

5

    The bandits didn’t look like the kind Waxillium was used to. They didn’t mask their faces with kerchiefs or wear dusters and wide-brimmed Roughs hats. Most of them wore vests and bowler-style city hats, dull trousers, and loose, buttoned shirts that were rolled to the elbows. They weren’t better dressed, really, just different.
    They were well armed. Rifles held at shoulders for many, pistols in the hands of others. People throughout the ballroom noticed immediately, silverware clanking and curses sounding. There were at least two dozen bandits, perhaps three. Waxillium noticed with dissatisfaction that some more were coming in from the right, through the doors to the kitchens. They would have left men behind to watch the staff and keep them from running for help.
    “Hell of a time to leave your guns,” Wayne said. He moved off his seat and crouched beside the table, slipping his twin hardwood dueling canes out from underneath.
    “Put those down,” Waxillium said softly, counting. Thirty-five men he could see. Most were congregated at the two ends of the rectangular ballroom, directly in front of and behind Waxillium. He was in almost the very center of the room.
    “What?” Wayne said sharply.
    “Put the canes down, Wayne.”
    “You can’t mean—”
    “Look at this room!” Waxillium hissed. “How many bystanders are there in here? Three hundred, four? What will happen if we provoke a firefight?”
    “You could protect them,” Wayne said. “Push them out of the way.”
    “Maybe,” Waxillium said. “It would be very risky. So far, none of these robberies have turned violent. I won’t have you turning this one into a bloodbath.”
    “I don’t have to listen to you,” Wayne said sullenly. “You’re not in charge of me anymore, Wax.”
    Waxillium met his eyes and held them as the room filled with cries of alarm and concern. Looking reluctant, Wayne slid back up into his seat. He didn’t put down the dueling canes, but he did keep his hands under the tablecloth, hiding them from view.
    Marasi had turned, watching the thieves begin to move through the room, her eyes wide and her rose lips parted. “Oh my.” She spun around, digging out her pocketbook with