Brandon Sanderson - Shadows of Self

Partway through the event, Wayne sauntered over on crutches. He couldn’t heal without storing up more health—and he couldn’t do that while healing from his wound, or it would defeat the purpose. For now, he had to deal with the fragility of the body, just like a normal person.

We’re all so fragile, when you consider it, Wax thought. One little thing goes wrong, and we break.

“Hey, mate,” Wayne said, settling down on the footstool by Wax’s feet. “Wanna hear how I’m a rusting genius?”

“Shoot,” Wax whispered.

Wayne leaned forward, spread his hands before himself dramatically. “I’m gonna get everybody drunk.”

The crowd continued its chatter. Mostly constables. Some political allies of Wax’s. He’d chosen to do business with the more reputable people in the city, so Aradel’s culling of the lords hadn’t hit his house. It was considered an enormous political victory.

“See, I got this plan,” Wayne said, tapping his head. “People in this town, they got issues. The folks what work in the factories think havin’ more time to themselves is gonna fix their woes, but they gotta do something with that time. I’ve got an idea. It’ll fix it all.”

“Harmony, Wayne,” Wax said. “You’re not going to poison the city, are you?”

“Nah,” Wayne said. “Not their bodies, at least.” He grinned. “You watch. This will work. It’s gonna be amazing .” He rose, and stumbled, almost falling. He looked at his leg in surprise, as if he’d forgotten about the wound. Then he shook his head, grabbing his crutch and getting to his feet.

Once standing he hesitated, then leaned down. “It’ll pass, mate,” he said. “My pa once said to me, ‘Son, keep a stiff upper lip.’ So if things get bad, you bash your face against a wall till your lip bleeds, and you’ll feel better. Works for me. Least I think it does. Can’t right remember, on account of too many head wounds.”

He grinned. Wax kept staring into the flames. Wayne’s face fell.

“She’d have wanted you to stop her, you know,” Wayne said softly. “If she’d been able to talk to you, been able to think straight, she’d have demanded you kill her. Just like I’d have wanted it. Just like you’d want the same, if you’d lost your copper. You did what you hadda do, mate. And you did it well.”

He made a fist at Wax and nodded, then hobbled off, approaching a short young woman with long golden hair. A teenage girl? Wax didn’t recognize her.

“I know you, don’t I?” Wayne said. “Daughter of Remmingtel Tarcsel? The guy what invented the incandescent lightbulb?”

The girl’s jaw dropped. “You know him?” She seized Wayne by the arms. “You know about my father?”

“Sure do!” Wayne said. “He was robbed, I gotta say. Genius. Word is, you’re just as smart. That device you whipped up for making speeches sure is nice.”

She regarded Wayne, then leaned in. “That’s only the start. They’ve brought it into their houses. Don’t you see? It’s all around.”

“What?” Wayne said.

“Electricity,” the girl said. “And I’m going to be the first to use it.”

“Huh,” Wayne said. “Need some money?”

“Do I…” She towed Wayne away through the party, aglow, speaking so quickly Wax couldn’t pick out the words.

He didn’t care to. He just stared at the fire.

The guests were polite enough not to imply that he was ruining the party by his indifference. Clotide passed by, swapping his cold cup of tea out for a warm one. For all Wax cared, this comfortable chair could have been a hard bench. He didn’t feel it, or the warmth of the fire, or the joy of the victory.

How could you hear a bee buzzing in the middle of a thunderstorm?

The guests eventually found excuses to leave, their sedate revels accomplished. Some bade farewell to him. Others did not. About halfway through the protracted death of the party, Marasi settled down on his footstool. She wore her constable’s uniform. Odd thing to do at a party, though as he thought about it, the men in the constabulary did it all the time.

Marasi took his tea and sipped it, then placed something else onto the table where the cup had been. Wax’s eyes flicked toward it. A small spike, long as a finger, made of some silvery metal with dark red spots, like rusted bits.

“That’s one of the spikes she was using, Waxillium,” Marasi said softly. “MeLaan wanted me to show it to you.”

Wax closed his eyes. They thought he wanted to see something like that?

“Waxillium,” Marasi said. “We can’t identify the metal. It’s nothing we’ve ever seen before. It certainly wasn’t one of the spikes she started with. That means she removed both, and stuck one like this in instead. Where did she get them? Who gave them to her?”

“I don’t care,” he whispered, opening his eyes.

Marasi grew quiet. “Wax…”

“He sent her to me, Marasi. He sent a kandra to seduce me.”

“No,” Marasi said, firm. “He sent a bodyguard to watch over you in the Roughs. I spoke to TenSoon. The seduction was her idea. And yours, presumably.”

“Harmony knew,” Wax said hoarsely. “He saw what would happen.”

“Maybe He didn’t.”

“Then what kind of God is He? What good is a God like Him, Marasi? Tell me that.”

Marasi fidgeted, then she sighed and took the strange spike back. She dropped something else onto the table as she rose. A small earring, just a stud with the back bent over. “They sent this for you.”

Wax didn’t look at it. He left that earring right where it was, as Marasi made her farewells and stepped out of the party. Others came to him, offered bland encouragement, of the type you might write on a card.

He nodded, but didn’t listen.

Marasi stopped by the precinct offices on her way home from the party at Ladrian Mansion, intent on retrieving her copy of the Lord Mistborn’s Hemalurgy book, which she’d locked in her drawer. The offices were dark and quiet—a direct contrast to the chaos of a few nights back. Though some constables were out on patrol, most had been given time off. Only those with jail watch would be on duty.

So it surprised her when she found lights on at the back of the main chamber. She walked up and leaned against the doorframe, looking in at Aradel, who had a stack of papers out and was working on them by candlelight.

“I find it hard to believe,” Marasi noted, “that there’s nothing better for the governor to do on his first day in office than equipment-depreciation reports. Not that I mind. You’ve been ignoring those for … how long?”

Aradel’s expression soured. “I’m not governor,” he said. “Not really.”

“The title ‘Interim Governor’ has the word ‘Governor’ in it, sir.”

“They’ll vote someone else into office next month at the proper hearing.”

“Frankly, sir, I doubt that.”

He slapped one page down on the stack, signed and sealed, then sat there staring at it. Finally he ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, Preservation. What have I done? And why the hell didn’t any of you stop me?”

Marasi smiled. “You didn’t exactly give us a chance, sir.”

“I’ll run away,” he said. “I’ll refuse the appointment. I’ll…” He looked up at her, and then sighed. “I can’t be happy in this position, Colms.”

“The ones who are happy in the role, sir, seem to have had their chance. I’m excited to see where it goes from here. You just changed the world.”

“Didn’t mean to.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Marasi said, glancing to the side as someone else moved through the darkened chamber, approaching. Another constable coming in to catch up on work? “Oh no.”