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Freedom. Freedom, to Wax, wasn’t the absence of responsibility. He didn’t doubt that if he left again, he’d find himself as a lawman once more. No, freedom was not lack of responsibilities—it was being able to do what was right, without having to worry if it was also wrong.

He didn’t contemplate leaving, not seriously. But he did sit for a time, looking out at that darkness. Trying to look past the people, the shadowed suburbs, and see simplicity again. Rusts. What he wouldn’t give to trade all the politicians, games, and secrets for an honest murderer calling him out on the street.

Coward.

His own thought. Not from Harmony, or Bleeder. That made it all the more like a punch to the gut, for he knew it to be the truth. Wax took a deep breath and stood up again, shouldering his burdens. He turned away from the darkness and leaped off the bridge, Pushing himself into the night again. He’d come here for a moment’s solace, to think.

Turned out, he didn’t like where those thoughts were taking him.

19

As much as Wayne appreciated all the fancy treats the governor was providing, he had to admit he wasn’t entirely sympathetic to the man’s plight. After all, the whole point of having someone in charge—like the governor—was about makin’ sure people knew which fellow to kill.

That was why they had elections, wasn’t it? Innate got to be in charge and order everybody about, but when the assassins got bored, they didn’t go whack the guy what sold fish on the street corner. They went for the guy in charge. You had to take the good with the bad, you did. On one hand, you got fancy sweets any time of day. On the other hand, you might find murderers in your loo. That was the breaks.

And this Innate guy, he seemed to really want to meet Ironeyes. Not running away to the country when you knew a psychopathic, shapeshifting super-Allomancer was after you? Yeah, he understood he was a target. As Wayne sauntered after him—taking the tray from the serving girl as she tried to retreat with the uneaten cakes—the governor stopped in the doorway to his study.

“I need a few minutes to think, to prepare my remarks,” he said to Wayne and the other guards. “Thank you.”

“But sir!” MeLaan said. “You can’t go in alone. We need to protect you!”

“And what are any of you going to do,” Innate said, “about someone who can move at the speed of a thunderclap? We will just have to take our chances that the constables can deal with this … creature.”

“I don’t think—” MeLaan began, but cut off as he shut the door, leaving her, Wayne, and a couple of other guards in the hallway.

Wayne rolled his eyes, then leaned against the wall. “You two,” he said to the other guards, “go watch the window from outside that room, whydontcha? We’ll set up here.”

The two fellows shuffled, looked like they’d object, but then slunk out of the hallway. I wonder, Wayne thought, settling down on the floor beside the door, if they’re rethinkin’ their career choices. What with most everyone else guarding the governor dead already …

“You mortals,” MeLaan said, waving toward the door, “can be surprisingly cavalier with your limited life spans.”

“Yeah,” Wayne said. “He probably just wants to get me in trouble.”

“What?” MeLaan sounded amused. “By getting himself killed?”

“Sure,” Wayne said. “The idiot forbade me from goin’ to his fancy party earlier, then ditched me afterwise. He’s got it in for me. He’s gonna get himself killed, and leave me to explain it to Wax. ‘Sorry, mate. I let your pet politician get ripped in half.’ And Wax’ll scowl at me real good, even though ’s not my fault.”

MeLaan sat down across from him and grinned. “Is that what happened to his horse?”

“Why you gotta bring that up again?” Wayne asked, wriggling down to get comfortable and tipping his hat over his eyes. “That really wasn’t my fault. I had myself a dehabilitating injury when that happened.”

“De…”

“Yeah,” Wayne said, “made me cuss and drink like a bugger.” He settled back, listening, eyes closed. Servants moved through the building. Messengers went over their routes. Important types discussed their opinions just a room over.

They all talked. Everyone had to talk. People couldn’t just think something, they had to explain it. Wayne was the same. He was people, after all.

This murderer, this kandra, she was people too. She had talked to Wax. She had to talk.

Wax would probably catch her. He did things like that, impossible things that nobody thought he could. But just in case he didn’t, Wayne listened. You could tell a lot about people from the way they talked. You saw their past, their upbringing, their aspirations—all in the words they used. And this kandra … sooner or later she’d slip up and use the wrong word. A word that would be obvious, like a fellow drinking milk in the middle of a rowdy tavern.