Mistborn #04 The Alloy of Law

were well and checking their names off the guest list.
    “Well?” Brettin demanded. He was the constable-general, head of the constabulary in their octant. He was probably feeling very threatened by the robberies happening under his watch. Waxillium could imagine what it would be like in his position, getting thunder each day from powers above him who were not pleased.
    “I’m sorry, constable,” Waxillium said calmly. “Old habits make for strong steel. I should have restrained myself, but would you have done any different? Would you have watched women being kidnapped and done nothing?”
    “I have a legal right and responsibility you do not.”
    “I have a moral right and responsibility, constable.”
    Brettin harrumphed, but the calm words mollified him somewhat. He glanced to the side as a brown-suited constable wearing one of their domelike hats entered and saluted.
    “Well?” Brettin asked. “What’s the news, Reddi?”
    “Twenty-five dead, Captain,” the man said.
    Brettin groaned. “You see what you’ve caused, Ladrian? If you’d just kept your head down like everyone else, then those poor folks would still be alive. Ruination! This is a mess. I could hang for this—”
    “Captain,” Reddi interrupted. He stepped in and spoke softly. “Excuse me, sir. But those were the bandit casualties. Twenty-five of them dead, sir. Six captured alive.”
    “Oh. And how many civilians killed?”
    “Just one, sir. Lord Peterus. He was shot before Lord Ladrian started fighting back. Sir.” Reddi was regarding Waxillium with a mixture of awe and respect.
    Brettin glanced at Waxillium, then grabbed his lieutenant by the arm and towed him a little farther off. Waxillium closed his eyes, breathed softly, and caught some of the conversation.
    “You mean … two men … thirty-one by themselves ?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “… else wounded…?”
    “… broken bones … not too serious … bruises and scrapes … going to open fire…”
    There was silence, and Waxillium opened his eyes to find the constable-general staring at him. Brettin waved Reddi away, then walked back.
    “Well?” Waxillium asked.
    “You appear to be a lucky man.”
    “My friend and I drew their attention,” Waxillium said. “And most of the partygoers already had their heads down when the shooting began.”
    “You still broke bones with your Allomantic stunt,” the constable-general said. “There will be bruised egos and angry lords. They’ll come to me when they complain.”
    Waxillium said nothing.
    Brettin crouched down before Waxillium, getting in close. “I know about you,” he said softly. “I knew eventually I’d be having this talk with you. So let me be clear. This is my city, and I have the authority here.”
    “Is that so?” Waxillium asked, feeling very tired.
    “It is.”
    “So where were you when the bandits started shooting people in the head?”
    Brettin’s face grew red, but Waxillium held his eyes.
    “I’m not threatened by you,” Brettin said.
    “Good. I haven’t said anything threatening yet.”
    Brettin hissed softly, then pointed at Waxillium, tapping a finger against his chest. “Keep your tongue civil. I’ve half a mind to toss you into jail for the night.”
    “Then do it. Maybe by morning you’ll have found the other half of your mind, and we’ll be able to have a reasonable conversation.”
    Brettin’s face grew even redder, but he knew—as Waxillium did—that he wouldn’t dare throw a house lord into jail without significant justification. Brettin finally broke away, waving a dismissive hand at Waxillium and stalking out of the kitchen.
    Waxillium sighed, standing up and taking his bowler off the counter where he’d left it. Harmony protect us from small-minded men with too much power. He donned the hat and walked out into the ballroom.
    The room had been mostly cleared of guests, the wedding party itself taken in Lord Yomen’s carriage to a place where they could recover from the ordeal. The ballroom swarmed with an almost equal number of constables and physicians. The wounded were sitting on the raised wooden floor just before the exit; there looked to be about twenty or thirty people there. Waxillium noticed Lord Harms sitting at a table off to the side, staring down with a morose expression, Marasi trying to comfort him. Wayne was at the table too, looking bored.
    Waxillium walked over to them, removing his hat, and sat down. He found that he didn’t exactly know what