There was no Coppercloud burning; Cett apparently didn’t care if someone recognized his men as Allomancers. Two of his men were burning pewter. Neither, however, were soldiers; both were pretending to be members of the serving staff who were bringing meals. There was also a Tineye pulsing in the other room, listening.
Why hide Thugs as servants, then use no copper to hide their pulses? In addition, there were no Soothers or Rioters. Nobody was trying to influence Elend’s emotions. Neither Cett nor his youthful attendant were burning any metals. Either they weren’t actually Allomancers, or they feared exposing themselves. Just to be certain, Vin flared her bronze, seeking to pierce any hidden copperclouds that might be nearby. She could see Cett putting out some obvious Allomancers as a distraction, then hiding the others inside a cloud.
She found nothing. Finally satisfied, she returned to picking at her meal. How many times has this ability of mine—the ability to pierce copperclouds—proven useful? She’d forgotten what it was like to be blocked from sensing Allomantic pulses. This one little ability—simple though it seemed—provided an enormous advantage. And the Lord Ruler and his Inquisitors had probably been able to do it from the beginning. What other tricks was she missing, what other secrets had died with the Lord Ruler?
He knew the truth about the Deepness, Vin thought. He must have. He tried to warn us, at the end. …
Elend and Cett were talking again. Why couldn’t she focus on the problems of the city?
“So you don’t have any atium at all?” Cett said.
“None that we’re willing to sell,” Elend said.
“You’ve searched the city?” Cett asked.
“A dozen times.”
“The statues,” Cett said. “Perhaps the Lord Ruler hid the metal by melting it down, then building things out of it.”
Elend shook his head. “We thought of that. The statues aren’t atium, and they aren’t hollow either—that would have been a good place to hide metal from Allomancer eyes. We thought maybe that it would be hidden in the palace somewhere, but even the spires are simple iron.”
“Caves, tunnels. …”
“None that we can find,” Elend said. “We’ve had Allomancers patrol, searching for large sources of metals. We’ve done everything we can think of, Cett, short of tearing holes in the ground. Trust me. We’ve been working on this problem for a while.”
Cett nodded, sighing. “So, I suppose holding you for ransom would be pointless?”
Elend smiled. “I’m not even king, Cett. The only thing you’d do is make the Assembly less likely to vote for you.”
Cett laughed. “Suppose I’ll have to let you go, then.”
Alendi was never the Hero of Ages. At best, I have amplified his virtues, creating a Hero where there was none. At worst, I fear that all we believe may have been corrupted.
36
ONCE THIS WAREHOUSE HAD HELD swords and armor, scattered across its floor in heaps, like some mythical treasure. Sazed remembered walking through it, marveling at the preparations Kelsier had made without alerting any of his crewmembers. Those weapons had armed the rebellion on the eve of the Survivor’s own death, letting it take the city.
Those weapons were now stored in lockers and armories. In their place, a desperate, beaten people huddled in what blankets they could find. There were very few men, none of fighting quality; Straff had pressed those into his army. These others—the weak, the sickly, the wounded—he had allowed to Luthadel, knowing that Elend wouldn’t turn them away.
Sazed moved among them, offering what comfort he could. They had no furniture, and even changes of clothing were becoming scarce in the city. The merchants, realizing that warmth would be a premium for the upcoming winter, had begun raising prices on all their wares, not just foodstuffs.
Sazed knelt beside a crying woman. “Peace, Genedere,” he said, his coppermind reminding him of her name.
She shook her head. She had lost three children in the koloss attack, two more in the flight to Luthadel. Now the final one—the babe she had carried the entire way—was sick. Sazed took the child from her arms, carefully studying his symptoms. Little had changed from the day before.
“Is there hope, Master Terrisman?” Genedere asked.
Sazed glanced down at the thin, glassy-eyed baby. The chances were not good. How could he tell her such a thing?
“As long as he breathes, there is hope, dear woman,” Sazed said. “I will ask the king to increase your portion of food—you need strength to give suck. You must keep him warm. Stay near the fires, and use a damp cloth to drip water in his mouth even when he is not eating. He has great need of liquids.”
Genedere nodded dully, taking back the baby. How Sazed wished he could give her more. A dozen different religions passed through his mind. He had spent his entire life trying to encourage people to believe in something other than the Lord Ruler. Yet, for some reason, at this moment he found it difficult to preach one of them to Genedere.
It had been different before the Collapse. Each time he’d spoken of a religion, Sazed had felt a subtle sense of rebellion. Even if people hadn’t accepted the things he taught—and they rarely had—his words had reminded them that there had once been beliefs other than the doctrines of the Steel Ministry.
Now there was nothing to rebel against. In the face of the terrible grief he saw in Genedere’s eyes, he found it difficult to speak of religions long dead, gods long forgotten. Esoterica would not ease this woman’s pain.
Sazed stood, moving on to the next group of people.
“Sazed?”
Sazed turned. He hadn’t noticed Tindwyl entering the warehouse. The doors of the large structure were closed against approaching night, and the firepits gave an inconsistent light. Holes had been knocked in the roof to let out the smoke; if one looked up, trails of mist could be seen creeping into the room, though they evaporated before they reached halfway to the floor.
The refugees didn’t often look up.
“You’ve been here nearly all day,” Tindwyl said. The room was remarkably quiet, considering its occupancy. Fires crackled, and people lay silent in their pain or numbness.
“There are many wounded here,” Sazed said. “I am the best one to look after them, I think. I am not alone—the king has sent others and Lord Breeze is here, Soothing the people’s despair.”
Sazed nodded to the side, where Breeze sat in a chair, ostensibly reading a book. He looked terribly out of place in the room, wearing his fine three-piece suit. Yet, his mere presence said something remarkable, in Sazed’s estimation.
These poor people, Sazed thought. Their lives were terrible under the Lord Ruler. Now even what little they had has been taken from them. And they were only a tiny number—four hundred compared with the hundreds of thousands who still lived in Luthadel.
What would happen when the final stores of food ran out? Rumors were already abroad regarding the poisoned wells, and Sazed had just heard that some of their stored food had been sabotaged as well. What would happen to these people? How long could the siege continue?
In fact, what would happen when the siege ended? What would happen when the armies finally began to attack and pillage? What destruction, what grief, would the soldiers cause in searching for hidden atium?