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You are a surgeon too, Bleeder said. They call you lord, they smile at you, but you aren’t one of them. If only you could be truly free. If only …

“I follow the law,” Wax whispered. “What do you follow?”

Bleeder gave no reply to that. The whisper, perhaps, had kept her from hearing.

The governor is corrupt, Bleeder said. He spent years covering for his brother, but in truth he would have done better covering for himself.

Wax looked to the side. He’d circled the room at this point, almost back to where he’d started. That server had followed all the way.

I have much work to do, Bleeder said. I need to free everyone in this city. Harmony crushes his palm against society, smothering it. He claims to not interfere, but then moves us like pieces on a board.

“So you’ll kill the governor?” Wax said. “That will somehow free the city?”

Yes, it will, Bleeder said. But of course I can’t kill him yet, Wax. I haven’t even murdered your father yet.

Wax felt suddenly cold. But his father was already dead. He spun, hand on his gun, and met the eyes of the server. The man froze, his eyes wide.

Then he ran.

Wax cursed, dashing after and flipping a coin out in front of himself. It spun in the air, but the waiter ducked behind a group of people. Wax gritted his teeth and let the coin drop without Pushing on it, instead unslinging Vindication. This prompted cries of worry from those in the party. The waiter ducked behind groups of people, ready to dodge Wax.

Fortunately, he—or she, or whatever—wasn’t ready for Wayne, who surged out between two plump women with cups of wine and flung himself at the waiter. Both went down in a heap. Wax slowed, raising his gun, taking aim. He couldn’t give Bleeder a chance to use Allomancy or Feruchemy, particularly if he was wrong about her using tin right now. A shot to the head wouldn’t kill a kandra, he guessed, but it should slow her down. Wax just had to be certain not to hit Wayne in the wrong—

The governor’s guards piled on top of Wayne and Bleeder. Wax cursed, dashing forward, Vindication up beside his head and mistcoat flapping behind him. He leaped over cowering partygoers—Pushing off tacks in the floor to get some height—and came down near the group of struggling guards.

Wayne, wearing a false beard and swearing like a canal worker with a headache, flailed about as five security guards held him.

“Let him go!” Wax said. “That’s my deputy. Where’s the other one?”

The guards stumbled about, all but one, who lay on the floor. Bleeding from the gut.

Wax snapped his head up, spotting a man in a waiter’s outfit pushing his way toward the room’s outer wall nearby. Wax leveled Vindication and took aim.

You should know, Bleeder said, that I was sad about your lover’s death. I hated that it was necessary.

Wax’s hand froze. Lessie. Dead.

Damn it, I’m past that! Wax squeezed the trigger anyway, but Bleeder ducked, skidding to the ground. The bullet punched a hole in the window above the man’s head.

Bleeder threw a chair at the weakened window, shattering it. Then, as Wax fired again, he leaped through.

Twenty-plus stories in the air.

Wax bellowed, charging toward the window. Wayne joined him, grabbing Wax by the arm. “I’ll hold on tightly, mate. Let’s go.”

“Stay,” Wax said, forcing himself to think through his turmoil of emotions. “Watch the governor. This might be a distraction, like the attempt earlier.”

Wax didn’t give Wayne a chance to complain. He shook out of the man’s grip, then threw himself into the mists.

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Reckless Roughian Apprehends, Kills Marksman

A year has passed since the Fourth Octant Constabulary’s unpopular Decision to deputize the controversial former Roughs lawman Lord Waxillium Ladrian, and the Octant continues to run from a long List of Embarrassments the man has caused.