The Mistborn Trilogy (122 page)

“That won’t work,” Elend said, shaking his head. “We need a unanimous decision—minus the person being ousted, of course—in order to depose a member of the Assembly. We’d never manage to vote out all eight merchants.”

Ham looked a bit deflated. Elend knew that Ham liked to consider himself a philosopher; indeed, Ham had a good mind for abstract thinking. However, he wasn’t a scholar. He liked to think up questions and answers, but he didn’t have experience studying a text in detail, searching out its meaning and implications.

Elend glanced at Sazed, who sat with a book open on the table before him. The Keeper had at least a dozen volumes stacked around him—though, amusingly, his stacks were neatly arranged, spines pointing the same direction, covers flush. Elend’s own stacks were characteristically haphazard, pages of notes sticking out at odd angles.

It was amazing how many books one could fit into a room, assuming one didn’t want to move around very much. Ham sat on the floor, a small pile of books beside him, though he spent most of his time voicing one random idea or another. Tindwyl had a chair, and did not study. The Terriswoman found it perfectly acceptable to train Elend as a king; however, she refused to research and give suggestions about keeping his throne. This seemed, in her eyes, to cross some unseen line between being an educator and a political force.

Good thing Sazed isn’t like that,
Elend thought.
If he were, the Lord Ruler might still be in charge. In fact, Vin and I would probably both be dead—Sazed was the one who actually rescued her when she was imprisoned by the Inquisitors. It wasn’t me.

He didn’t like to think about that event. His bungled attempt at rescuing Vin now seemed a metaphor for all he had done wrong in his life. He’d always been well-intentioned, but he’d rarely been able to deliver. That was going to change.

“What about this, Your Majesty?” The one who spoke was the only other person in the room, a scholar named Noorden. Elend tried to ignore the intricate tattoos around the man’s eyes, indications of Noorden’s former life as an obligator. He wore large spectacles to try to hide the tattoos, but he had once been relatively well placed in the Steel Ministry. He could renounce his beliefs, but the tattoos would always remain.

“What have you found?” Elend asked.

“Some information on Lord Cett, Your Majesty,” Noorden said. “I found it in one of the ledgers you took from the Lord Ruler’s palace. It seems Cett isn’t as indifferent to Luthadel politics as he’d like us to think.” Noorden chuckled to himself at the thought.

Elend had never met a cheerful obligator before. Perhaps that was why Noorden hadn’t left the city like most of his kind; he certainly didn’t seem to fit into their ranks. He was only one of several men that Elend had been able to find to act as scribes and bureaucrats in his new kingdom.

Elend scanned Noorden’s page. Though the page was filled with numbers rather than words, his scholar’s mind easily parsed the information. Cett had done a lot of trading with Luthadel. Most of his work had been done using lesser houses as fronts. That might have fooled noblemen, but not the obligators, who had to be informed of the terms of any deal.

Noorden passed the ledger over to Sazed, who scanned the numbers.

“So,” Noorden said, “Lord Cett wanted to appear unconnected to Luthadel—the beard and the attitude only serving to reinforce that impression. Yet, he always had a very quiet hand in things here.”

Elend nodded. “Maybe he realized that you can’t avoid politics by pretending you’re not part of them. There’s no way he would have been able to grab as much power as he did without some solid political connections.”

“So, what does this tell us?” Sazed asked.

“That Cett is far more accomplished at the game than he wants people to believe,” Elend said, standing, then stepping over a pile of books as he made his way back to his chair. “But, I think that much was obvious by the way he manipulated me and the Assembly yesterday.”

Noorden chuckled. “You should have seen the way you all looked, Your Majesty. When Cett revealed himself, a few of the noble Assemblymen actually jumped in their seats! I think the rest of you were too shocked to—”

“Noorden?” Elend said.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Please focus on the task at hand.”

“Um, yes, Your Majesty.”

“Sazed?” Elend asked. “What do you think?”

Sazed looked up from his book—a codified and annotated version of the city’s charter, as written by Elend himself. The Terrisman shook his head. “You did a very good job with this, I think. I can see very few methods of preventing Lord Cett’s appointment, should the Assembly choose him.”

“Too competent for your own good?” Noorden said.

“A problem which, unfortunately, I’ve rarely had,” Elend said, sitting and rubbing his eyes.

Is this how Vin feels all the time?
he wondered. She got less sleep than he, and she was always moving about, running, fighting, spying. Yet, she always seemed fresh. Elend was beginning to droop after just a couple of days of hard study.

Focus,
he told himself.
You have to know your enemies so that you can fight them. There has to be a way out of this.

Dockson was still composing letters to the other Assemblymen. Elend wanted to meet with those who were willing. Unfortunately, he had a feeling that number would be small. They had voted him out, and now they had been presented with an option that seemed an easy way out of their problems.

“Your Majesty…” Noorden said slowly. “Do you think, maybe, that we should just let Cett take the throne? I mean, how bad could he be?”

Elend stopped. One of the reasons he employed the former obligator was because of Noorden’s different viewpoint. He wasn’t a skaa, nor was he a high nobleman. He wasn’t a thief. He was just a scholarly little man who had joined the Ministry because it had offered an option other than becoming a merchant.

To him, the Lord Ruler’s death had been a catastrophe that had destroyed his entire way of life. He wasn’t a bad man, but he had no real understanding of the plight of the skaa.

“What do you think of the laws I’ve made, Noorden?” Elend asked.

“They’re brilliant, Your Majesty,” Noorden said. “Keen representations of the ideals spoken of by old philosophers, along with a strong element of modern realism.”

“Will Cett respect these laws?” Elend asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t ever really met the man.”

“What do your instincts tell you?”

Noorden hesitated. “No,” he finally said. “He isn’t the type of man who rules by law. He just does what he wants.”

“He would bring only chaos,” Elend said. “Look at the information we have from his homeland and the places he’s conquered. They are in turmoil. He’s left a patchwork of half alliances and promises—threats of invasion acting as the thread that—barely—holds it all together. Giving him rule of Luthadel would just set us up for another collapse.”

Noorden scratched his cheek, then nodded thoughtfully and turned back to his reading.

I can convince him,
Elend thought.
If only I could do the same for the Assemblymen.

But Noorden was a scholar; he thought the way Elend did. Logical facts were enough for him, and a promise of stability was more powerful than one of wealth. The Assembly was a different beast entirely. The noblemen wanted a return to what they’d known before; the merchants saw an opportunity to grab the titles they’d always envied; and the skaa were simply worried about a brutal slaughter.

And yet, even those were generalizations. Lord Penrod saw himself as the city’s patriarch—the ranking nobleman, the one who needed to bring a measure of conservative temperance to their problems. Kinaler, one of the steelworkers, was worried that the Central Dominance needed a kinship with the kingdoms around it, and saw an alliance with Cett as the best way to protect Luthadel in the long run.

Each of the twenty-three Assemblymen had their own thoughts, goals, and problems. That was what Elend had intended; ideas proliferated in such an environment. He just hadn’t expected so many of their ideas to contradict his own.

“You were right, Ham,” Elend said, turning.

Ham looked up, raising an eyebrow.

“At the beginning of this all, you and the others wanted to make an alliance with one of the armies—give them the city in exchange for keeping it safe from the other armies.”

“I remember,” Ham said.

“Well, that’s what the people want,” Elend said. “With or without my consent, it appears they’re going to give the city to Cett. We should have just gone with your plan.”

“Your Majesty?” Sazed asked quietly.

“Yes?”

“My apologies, but it is not your duty to do what the people want.”

Elend blinked. “You sound like Tindwyl.”

“I have known few people as wise as she, Your Majesty,” Sazed said, glancing at her.

“Well, I disagree with both of you,” Elend said. “A ruler should only lead by the consent of the people he rules.”

“I do not disagree with that, Your Majesty,” Sazed said. “Or, at least, I do believe in the theory of it. Regardless, I still do not believe that your duty is to do as the people wish. Your duty is to lead as best you can, following the dictates of your conscience. You must be true, Your Majesty, to the man you wish to become. If that man is not whom the people wish to have lead them, then they will choose someone else.”

Elend paused.
Well, of course. If I shouldn’t be an exception to my own laws, I shouldn’t be an exception to my own ethics, either.
Sazed’s words were really just a rephrasing of things Tindwyl had said about trusting oneself, but Sazed’s explanation seemed a better one. A more honest one.

“Trying to guess what people wish of you will only lead to chaos, I think,” Sazed said. “You cannot please them all, Elend Venture.”

The study’s small ventilation window bumped open, and Vin squeezed through, pulling in a puff of mist behind her. She closed the window, then surveyed the room.

“More?” she asked incredulously. “You found more books?”

“Of course,” Elend said.

“How many of those things have people written?” she asked with exasperation.

Elend opened his mouth, then paused as he saw the twinkle in her eye. Finally, he just sighed. “You’re hopeless,” he said, turning back to his letters.

He heard rustling from behind, and a moment later Vin landed on one of his stacks of books, somehow managing to balance atop it. Her mistcloak tassels hung down around her, smudging the ink on his letter.

Elend sighed.

“Oops,” Vin said, pulling back the mistcloak. “Sorry.”

“Is it really necessary to leap around like that all the time, Vin?” Elend asked.

Vin jumped down. “Sorry,” she repeated, biting her lip. “Sazed says it’s because Mistborn like to be up high, so we can see everything that’s going on.”

Elend nodded, continuing the letter. He preferred them to be in his own hand, but he’d need to have a scribe rewrite this one. He shook his head.
So much to do….

Vin watched Elend scribble. Sazed sat reading, as did one of Elend’s scribes—the obligator. She eyed the man, and he shrank down a little in his seat. He knew that she’d never trusted him. Priests shouldn’t be cheerful.

She was excited to tell Elend what she’d discovered about Demoux, but she hesitated. There were too many people around, and she didn’t really have any evidence—just her instincts. So, she held herself back, looking over the stacks of books.

There was a dull quiet in the room. Tindwyl sat with her eyes slightly glazed; she was probably studying some ancient biography in her mind. Even Ham was reading, though he flipped from book to book, hopping topics. Vin felt as if she should be studying something, too. She thought of the notes she’d been making about the Deepness and the Hero of Ages, but couldn’t bring herself to get them out.

She couldn’t tell him about Demoux, yet, but there
was
something else she’d discovered.

“Elend,” she said quietly. “I have something to tell you.”

“Humm?”

“I heard the servants talking when OreSeur and I got dinner earlier,” Vin said. “Some people they know have been sick lately—a lot of them. I think that someone might be fiddling with our supplies.”

“Yes,” Elend said, still writing. “I know. Several wells in the city have been poisoned.”

“They have?”

He nodded. “Didn’t I tell you when you checked on me earlier? That’s where Ham and I were.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I thought I did,” Elend said, frowning.

Vin shook her head.

“I apologize,” he said, leaned up and kissed her, then turned back to his scribbling.

And a kiss is supposed to make it all right?
she thought sullenly, sitting back on a stack of books.

It was a silly thing; there was really no reason that Elend
should
have told her so quickly. And yet, the exchange left her feeling odd. Before, he would have asked her to do something about the problem. Now, he’d apparently handled it all on his own.

Sazed sighed, closing his tome. “Your Majesty, I can find no holes. I have read your laws over six times now.”

Elend nodded. “I feared as much. The only advantage we could gain from the law is to misinterpret it intentionally—which I will not do.”

“You are a good man, Your Majesty,” Sazed said. “If you had seen a hole in the law, you would have fixed it. Even if you hadn’t caught the flaws, one of us would have, when you asked for our opinions.”

He lets them call him “Your Majesty,”
Vin thought.
He tried to get them to stop that. Why let them use it now?