She nodded. After a short time, she set down her cup, wrapping her arms around her knees. “What are they like?” she asked. “I’ve heard so many stories. They say that Emperor Venture always wears white, and that the ash refuses to stick to him! He can quell an army just by looking at them. And his wife, the Survivor’s heir. Mistborn …”
Spook smiled. “Elend is a forgetful scholar—twice as bad as Sazed ever was. He gets lost in his books and forgets about meetings he himself called. He only dresses with any sense of fashion because a Terriswoman bought him a new wardrobe. War has changed him some, but on the inside, I think he’s still just a dreamer caught in a world with too much violence.
“And Vin … well, she really is different. I’ve never been sure what to make of her. Sometimes, she seems as frail as a child. And then she kills an Inquisitor. She can be fascinating and frightening at the same time. I tried to court her once.”
“Really?” Beldre said, perking up.
Spook smiled. “I gave her a handkerchief. I heard that’s how you do it in noble society.”
“Only if you’re a romantic,” Beldre said, smiling wistfully.
“Well, I gave her one,” Spook said. “But I don’t think she knew what I meant by it. And, of course, once she did figure it out, she turned me down. I’m not sure what I was thinking, trying to court her. I mean, I’m just Spook. Quiet, incomprehensible, forgettable Spook.”
He closed his eyes. What am I saying? Women didn’t want to hear men talk about how insignificant they were. He’d heard that much. I shouldn’t have come to talk to her. I should have just gone about, giving orders. Looking like I was in charge.
The damage had been done, however. She knew the truth about him. He sighed, opening his eyes.
“I don’t think you’re forgettable,” Beldre said. “Of course, I’d be more likely to think fondly of you if you were to let me go.”
Spook smiled. “Eventually. I promise.”
“Are you going to use me against him?” Beldre asked. “Threaten to kill me if he doesn’t give in?”
“Threats like that are hollow if you know you’ll never do what you say,” Spook said. “Honestly, Beldre, I’m not going to hurt you. In fact, I’ve got a feeling you’ll be safer here than back in your brother’s palace.”
“Please don’t kill him, Spook,” Beldre said. “Maybe … maybe you can help him somehow, help him see that he’s being too extreme.”
Spook nodded. “I’ll … try.”
“Do you promise?” she said.
“All right,” Spook said. “I promise to at least try to save your brother. If I can.”
“And the city too.”
“And the city,” Spook said. “Trust me. We’ve done this before—the transition will go smoothly.”
Beldre nodded, and she actually seemed to believe him. What kind of woman is still able to trust people after everything she’s been through? If she’d been Vin, she would have stabbed him in the back at the first opportunity, and that would have probably been the right thing to do. Yet, this girl just continued to trust. It was like finding a beautiful plant growing alone in a field of burnt ash.
“Once we’re done, maybe you could introduce me to the emperor and empress,” Beldre said. “They sound like interesting people.”
“I’ll never argue with that statement,” Spook said. “Elend and Vin … well, they’re certainly interesting. Interesting people with heavy burdens. Sometimes, I wish I were powerful enough to do important works like them.”
Beldre laid a hand on his arm, and he glanced down, a bit surprised. What?
“Power can be a terrible thing, Spook,” she said quietly. “I’m … not pleased with what it’s done to my brother. Don’t wish so hard for it.”
Spook met her eyes, then nodded and rose. “If you need anything, ask Sazed. He’ll see to your comforts.”
She looked up. “Where are you going?”
“To be seen.”
“I want primary trade contracts on all the canals,” Durn said. “And a title from the emperor.”
“You?” Spook said. “A title? You think a ‘lord’ in front of your name is going to make that face any less ugly?”
Durn raised an eyebrow.
Spook just chuckled. “Both are yours. I cleared it with Sazed and Breeze—they’ll even draft you a contract, if you want.”
Durn nodded appreciatively. “I do. Lords pay attention to things like that.” They sat in one of his many backroom chambers—not in his private home, but in a place attached to a particular inn. An old set of drums hung on the wall.
Spook had had little trouble sneaking out past Quellion’s soldiers standing watch at the front of the Ministry building. Even before he’d gained enhanced abilities with tin, and long before he’d been able to burn pewter, he’d learned to sneak about in the night and spy. A group of soldiers had barely posed an obstacle for him. He couldn’t remain cooped up in the cavern like the others. He had too much work to do.
“I want the Harrows dammed off,” Spook said. “We’ll flood the canals during the evening, when the markets are empty. Nobody lives in the streetslots except for those of you here in the slums. If you want to keep this place from flooding, you’ll need a good watertight blockade in place.”
“Already taken care of,” Durn said. “When the Harrows were new, we pulled off the lock system from its mouth, but I know where it is. It’ll fit back in place well enough to keep the water out, assuming we can install it correctly.”
“You’d better,” Spook said. “I don’t want the deaths of half the city’s beggar population on my conscience. I’ll warn you the day we intend to pull this off. See if you can get some of the goods out of the market, as well as keep people out of the streetslots. That, plus what you’re doing for my reputation, will guarantee you the title you want.”
Durn nodded, rising. “Well, let’s go work on that reputation, then.” He led the way out of the back room, bringing Spook out into the commons of the bar. As always, Spook wore his burned cloak—it had become something of a symbol for him. He’d never worn a mistcloak, but somehow, this felt even better.
The people rose when he entered. He smiled, motioning for Durn’s men to bring out wineskins—stolen from the storage cavern and carried by Spook as he snuck out several nights in a row. “Tonight,” he said, “you don’t have to pay for Quellion’s stolen liquor. That’s his way of keeping you happy and content.”
And that was the only speech he gave. He wasn’t Kelsier, able to impress people with his words. Instead—at Breeze’s suggestion—he stayed mostly quiet. He visited tables, trying to not be aloof, but also speaking little. He looked thoughtful, and asked the people about their problems. He listened to stories of loss and hardship, and drank with them to the memory of those Quellion had murdered. And, with his pewter, he never got drunk. He already had a reputation for that—the people regarded it mystically, as they did his ability to survive fire.