The Mistborn Trilogy (221 page)

Vin extinguished her metals, then burned duralumin and brass,
Pushing
on the emotions of both women.

She’d done this only once before, to Straff Venture. A duralumin-fueled Brasspush was a terrible thing; it flattened a person’s emotions, making them feel empty, completely void of all feeling. Both women gasped, and the one who had been standing stumbled to the ground instead, falling silent.

Vin landed hard, her pewter still off lest she mix it with duralumin. She put her pewter back on immediately, however, rolling up to her feet. She took one of the women with an elbow to the stomach, then grabbed her face and slammed it down into the table, knocking her out. The other woman sat dazedly on the ground. Vin grimaced, then grabbed the woman by the throat, choking her.

It felt brutal, but Vin didn’t let up until the woman fell unconscious—proven by the fact that she let her Allomantic coppercloud fall. Vin sighed, releasing the woman. The unconscious spy slumped to the floor.

Vin turned. Slowswift’s young men stood by anxiously. Vin waved them over.

“Stash these two in the bushes,” Vin said quickly, “then sit at the table. If anyone asks after them, say that you saw them follow me back into the party. Hopefully, that will keep everyone confused.”

The men flushed. “We—”

“Do as I say or flee,” Vin snapped. “Don’t argue with me. I left them both alive, and I can’t afford to let them report that I’ve escaped their watch. If they stir, you’ll have to knock them out again.”

The men nodded reluctantly.

Vin reached up and unbuttoned her dress, letting the garment fall to the ground and revealing the sleek, dark clothing she wore underneath. She gave the dress to the men to hide as well, then moved into the building, away from the party. Inside the misty corridor, she found a stairwell, and slipped down it. Elend’s distraction would be in full progress by now. Hopefully, it would last long enough.

“That’s right,” Elend said, arms folded, staring down Yomen. “A duel. Why make the armies fight for the city? You and I could settle this ourselves.”

Yomen didn’t laugh at the ridiculous idea. He simply sat at his table, his thoughtful eyes set in a bald, tattooed head, the single bead of atium tied to his forehead sparkling in the lantern-light. The rest of the crowd was reacting just as Elend had expected. Conversations had died, and people had rushed in, packing into the main ballroom to watch the confrontation between emperor and king.

“Why do you think that I would consent to such a thing?” Yomen finally asked.

“All accounts say that you are a man of honor.”

“But you are not,” Yomen said, pointing at Elend. “This very offer proves that. You are an Allomancer—there would be no contest between us. What honor would there be in that?”

Elend didn’t really care. He just wanted Yomen occupied as long as possible. “Then choose a champion,” he said. “I’ll fight him instead.”

“Only a Mistborn would be a match for you,” Yomen said.

“Then send one against me.”

“Alas, I have none. I won my kingdom through fairness, legality, and the Lord Ruler’s grace—not through threat of assassination, like yourself.”

No Mistborn, you say?
Elend thought, smiling.
So, your “fairness, legality, and grace” don’t preclude lying?
“You would really let your people die?” Elend said loudly, sweeping his hand across the room. More and more people were gathering to watch. “All because of your pride?”

“Pride?” Yomen said, leaning forward. “You call it pride to defend your own rule? I call it pride to march your armies into another man’s kingdom, seeking to intimidate him with barbaric monsters.”

“Monsters your own Lord Ruler created and used to intimidate and conquer as well,” Elend said.

Yomen paused. “Yes, the Lord Ruler created the koloss,” he said. “It was his prerogative to determine how they were used. Besides, he kept them far away from civilized cities—yet you march them right up to our doorstep.”

“Yes,” Elend said, “and they haven’t attacked. That’s because I can control them as the Lord Ruler did. Wouldn’t that suggest that I have inherited his right to rule?”

Yomen frowned, perhaps noticing that Elend’s arguments kept changing—that he was saying whatever came to mind in order to keep the discussion going.

“You may be unwilling to save this city,” Elend said, “but there are others in it who are wiser. You don’t think I came here without allies, do you?”

Yomen paused again.

“Yes,” Elend said, scanning the crowd. “You’re not just fighting me, Yomen. You’re fighting your own people. Which ones will betray you, when the time comes? How well can you trust them, exactly?”

Yomen snorted. “Idle threats, Venture. What is this really about?” However, Elend could tell that his words bothered Yomen. The man
didn’t
trust the local nobility. He would have been a fool to do so.

Elend smiled, preparing his next argument. He could keep this discussion going for quite some time. For, if there was one thing in particular that he had learned by growing up in his father’s house it was this: how to annoy people.

You have your distraction, Vin,
Elend thought.
Let’s hope you can end the fight for this city before it really begins
.

Each spike, positioned very carefully, can determine how the recipient’s body is changed by Hemalurgy. A spike in one place creates a monstrous, near-mindless beast. In another place, a spike will create a crafty—yet homicidal—Inquisitor.

Without the instinctive knowledge granted by taking the power at the Well of Ascension, Rashek would never have been able to use Hemalurgy. With his mind expanded, and with a little practice, he was able to intuit where to place spikes that would create the servants he wanted.

It is a little-known fact that the Inquisitors’ torture chambers were actually Hemalurgic laboratories. The Lord Ruler was constantly trying to develop new breeds of servant. It is a testament to Hemalurgy’s complexity that, despite a thousand years of trying, he never managed to create anything with it beyond the three kinds of creatures he developed during those few brief moments holding the power.

VIN CREPT DOWN THE STONE STAIRWELL
, small sounds echoing eerily from below. She had no torch or lantern, and the stairwell was not lit, but enough light reflected up from below to let her tin-enhanced eyes see.

The more she thought about it, the more the large basement made sense. This was the Canton of Resource—the arm of the Ministry that had been in charge of feeding the people, maintaining the canals, and supplying the other Cantons. Vin supposed that this basement had once been well stocked with supplies. If the cache really was here, it would be the first that she had discovered hidden beneath a Canton of Resource building. Vin expected great things from it. What better place to hide your atium and your most important resources than with an organization that was in charge of transportation and storage across the entire empire?

The stairwell was simple, utilitarian, and steep. Vin wrinkled her nose at the musty air, which seemed all the more stuffy to her tin-enhanced sense of smell. Still, she was grateful for tin’s enhanced vision, not to mention the enhanced hearing, which let her hear clinking armor below—an indication that she needed to move quite carefully.

And so she did. She reached the bottom of the stairwell and peeked around the corner. Three narrow stone corridors split off from the stairwell landing, each heading in a different direction at ninety-degree angles. The sounds were coming from the right, and as Vin leaned out a bit more, she nearly jumped as she saw a pair of guards standing lazily against the wall a short distance away.

Guards standing in the corridors,
Vin thought, ducking back into the stairwell.
Yomen definitely wants to protect something down here.

Vin crouched down on the rough, cool stone. Pewter, steel, and iron were of relatively little use at the moment. She could take down both guards, but it would be risky, since she couldn’t afford to make any noise. She didn’t know where the cache was—and therefore couldn’t afford to make a disturbance, not yet.

Vin closed her eyes, burning brass and zinc. She carefully—and slowly—Soothed the emotions of the two soldiers. She heard them settle back, leaning against the side of the corridor. Then, she Rioted their sense of boredom, tugging on that single emotion. She peeked around the corner again, keeping the pressure on, waiting.

One of the men yawned. A few seconds later, the other one did. Then they both yawned at once. And Vin scuttled straight across the landing and into the shadowed hallway beyond. She pressed herself up against the wall, heart beating quickly, and waited. No cry came, though one of the guards did mumble something about being tired.

Vin smiled in excitement. It had been a long time since she’d had to truly sneak. She had spied and scouted, but had trusted on the mists, the darkness, and her ability to move quickly to protect her. This was different. It reminded her of the days when she and Reen had burgled houses.

What would my brother say now?
she wondered, padding down the corridor on unnaturally light, quiet feet.
He’d think I’ve gone crazy, sneaking into a building not for wealth, but for information.
To Reen, life had been about survival—the simple, harsh facts of survival. Trust nobody. Make yourself invaluable to your team, but don’t be too threatening. Be ruthless. Stay alive.

She hadn’t abandoned his lessons. They’d always be part of her—they were what had kept her alive and careful, even during her years with Kelsier’s crew. She just no longer listened to them exclusively. She tempered them with trust and hope.

Your trust will get you killed someday,
Reen seemed to whisper in the back of her mind. But, of course, even Reen himself hadn’t stuck to his code perfectly. He’d died protecting Vin, refusing to give her up to the Inquisitors, even though doing so might have saved his life.

Vin continued forward. It soon became evident that the basement was an extensive grid of narrow corridors surrounding larger rooms. She peeked into one, creaking the door open, and found some supplies. They were basic kinds of things, flour and the like—not the carefully canned, organized, and catalogued long-term supplies of a storage cache.

There must be a loading dock down one of these corridors,
Vin guessed.
It probably slopes up, leading to that subcanal that runs into the city.

Vin moved on, but she knew she wouldn’t have time to search each of the basement’s many rooms. She approached another intersection of corridors, and crouched down, frowning. Elend’s diversion wouldn’t last forever, and someone would eventually discover the women she’d knocked unconscious. She needed to get to the cache quickly.

She glanced around. The corridors were sparsely lit by the occasional lamp. Yet, there seemed to be more light coming from the left. She moved down this corridor, and the lamps became more frequent. Soon, she caught the sound of voices, and she moved more carefully, approaching another intersection. She peeked down it. To the left, she noted a pair of soldiers standing in the distance. To her right, there were four.

Right it is, then,
she thought. However, this was going to be a little more difficult.

She closed her eyes, listening carefully. She could hear both groups of soldiers, but there seemed to be something else. Other groups in the distance. Vin picked one of these and begin to Pull with a powerful Riot of emotions. Soothing and Rioting weren’t blocked by stone or steel—during the days of the Final Empire, the Lord Ruler had set up Soothers in various sections of the skaa slums, letting them Soothe away the emotions of everyone nearby, affecting hundreds, even thousands, of people at once.

She waited. Nothing happened. She was trying to Riot the men’s sense of anger and irritability. However, she didn’t even know if she was Pulling in the right direction. In addition, Rioting and Soothing weren’t as precise as Pushing steel. Breeze always explained that the emotional makeup of a person was a complex jumble of thoughts, instincts, and feelings. An Allomancer couldn’t control minds or actions. He could only nudge.

Unless . . .