Mistborn: The Final Empire (Mistborn, #1)

“You’re saying that Geffenry purposely killed a Tekiel ally?” asked Rene, Kliss’s date. He scrunched up his ample brow in thought.

Kliss patted Rene’s arm. “Don’t worry about it too much, dear,” she advised, then turned eagerly back to the conversation. “Don’t you see? By secretly killing Lord Entrone, Geffenry hoped to get the allegiance it needs. That would give it access to those Tekiel canal routes through the eastern plains.”

“But it backfired,” Milen said thoughtfully. “Tekiel discovered the ruse, and killed Ardous and Callins.”

“I danced with Ardous a couple of times at the last ball,” Vin said. Now he’s dead, his corpse left on the streets outside a skaa slum.

“Oh?” Milen asked. “Was he any good?”

Vin shrugged. “Not very.” That’s all you can ask, Milen? A man is dead, and you just want to know if I liked him more than you?

“Well, now he’s dancing with the worms,” said Tyden, the final man in the group.

Milen gave the quip a pity laugh, which was more than it deserved. Tyden’s attempts at humor generally left something to be desired. He seemed like the type who would have been more at home with the ruffians of Camon’s crew than the noblemen of the dance hall.

Of course, Dox says they’re all like that, underneath.

Vin’s conversation with Dockson still dominated her thoughts. When she’d started coming to the noblemen’s balls back on that first night—the night she’d nearly been killed—she’d thought about how fake everything seemed. How had she forgotten that original impression? How had she let herself get taken in, to begin admiring their poise and their splendor?

Now, every nobleman’s arm around her waist made her cringe—as if she could feel the rot within their hearts. How many skaa had Milen killed? What about Tyden? He seemed like the type who would enjoy a night with the whores.

But, still she played along. She had finally worn her black gown this evening, somehow feeling the need to set herself apart from the other women with their bright colors and often brighter smiles. However, she couldn’t avoid the others’ company; Vin had finally begun to gain the confidences her crew needed. Kelsier would be delighted to know that his plan for House Tekiel was working, and that wasn’t the only thing she had been able to discover. She had dozens of little tidbits that would be of vital use to the crew’s efforts.

One such tidbit was about House Venture. The family was bunkering up for what it expected to be an extended house war; one evidence of this was the fact that Elend attended far fewer balls than he once had. Not that Vin minded. When he did come, he generally avoided her, and she didn’t really want to talk to him anyway. Memories of what Dockson had said made her think that she might have trouble remaining civil toward Elend.

“Milen?” Lord Rene asked. “Are you still planning on joining us for a game of shelldry tomorrow?”

“Of course, Rene,” Milen said.

“Didn’t you promise that last time?” Tyden asked.

“I’ll be there,” Milen said. “Something came up last time.”

“And it won’t come up again?” Tyden asked. “You know we can’t play unless we have a fourth man. If you’re not going to be there, we could ask someone else. . . .”

Milen sighed, then held up a hand, sharply gesturing to the side. The motion caught Vin’s attention—she had only been half listening to the conversation. She looked to the side, and nearly jumped in shock as she saw an obligator approaching the group.

So far she’d managed to avoid obligators at the balls. After her first run-in with a high prelan, some months ago—and the subsequent alerting of an Inquisitor—she’d been apprehensive to even go near one.

The obligator approached, smiling in a creepy sort of way. Perhaps it was the arms clasped before him, hands hidden inside the gray sleeves. Perhaps it was the tattoos around the eyes, wrinkled with the aging skin. Perhaps it was the way his eyes regarded her; it seemed like they could see through her guise. This wasn’t just a nobleman, this was an obligator—eyes of the Lord Ruler, enforcer of His law.

The obligator stopped at the group. His tattoos marked him as a member of the Canton of Orthodoxy, the primary bureaucratic arm of the Ministry. He eyed the group, speaking in a smooth voice. “Yes?”

Milen pulled out a few coins. “I promise to meet these two for shelldry tomorrow,” he said, handing the coins to the aging obligator.

It seemed like such a silly reason to call over an obligator—or, at least, so Vin thought. The obligator, however, didn’t laugh or point out the frivolity of the demand. He simply smiled, palming the coins as deftly as any thief. “I witness this, Lord Milen,” he said.

“Satisfied?” Milen asked of the other two.

They nodded.

The obligator turned, not giving Vin a second glance, and strolled away. She released a quiet breath, watching his shuffing form.

They must know everything that happens in court, she realized. If nobility call them over to witness things this simple . . . The more she knew about the Ministry, the more she realized how clever the Lord Ruler had been in organizing them. They witnessed every mercantile contract; Dockson and Renoux had to deal with obligators nearly every day. Only they could authorize weddings, divorces, land purchases, or ratify inheritance of titles. If an obligator hadn’t witnessed an event, it hadn’t happened, and if one hadn’t sealed a document, then it might as well not have been written.

Vin shook her head as the conversation turned to other topics. It had been a long night, and her mind was full of information to scribble down on her way back to Fellise.

“Excuse me, Lord Milen,” she said, laying a hand on his arm—though touching him made her shiver slightly. “I think perhaps it is time for me to retire.”

“I’ll walk you to your carriage,” he said.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said sweetly. “I want to refresh myself, and then I have to wait for my Terrisman anyway. I’ll just go sit down at our table.”

“Very well,” he said, nodding respectfully.

“Go if you must, Valette,” Kliss said. “But you’ll never know the news I have about the Ministry. . . .”

Vin paused. “What news?”

Kliss’s eyes twinkled, and she glanced at the disappearing obligator. “The Inquisitors are buzzing like insects. They’ve hit twice as many skaa thieving bands these last few months as usual. They don’t even take prisoners for executions—they just leave them all dead.”

“How do you know this?” Milen asked skeptically. He seemed so straight-backed and noble. You would never know what he really was.

“I have my sources,” Kliss said with a smile. “Why, the Inquisitors found another band just this afternoon. One headquartered not far from here.”

Vin felt a chill. They weren’t that far from Clubs’s shop. . . . No, it couldn’t be them. Dockson and the rest are too clever. Even without Kelsier in town, they’ll be safe.

“Cursed thieves,” Tyden spat. “Damn skaa don’t know their place. Isn’t the food and clothing we give enough of a theft from our pockets?”

“It’s amazing the creatures can even survive as thieves,” said Carlee, Tyden’s young wife, in her normal purring voice. “I can’t imagine what kind of incompetent would let himself get robbed by skaa.”

Tyden flushed, and Vin eyed him with curiosity. Carlee rarely spoke except to make some jab against her husband.

He must have been robbed himself. A scam, perhaps?

Filing away the information for later investigation, Vin turned to go—a motion that put her face-to-face with a newcomer to the group: Shan Elariel.