Mistborn #04 The Alloy of Law by Brandon Sanderson

people she’d noted to be attending or absent, and Waxillium rested elbows on the table, listening with half an ear.
    Hard room to defend, he thought absently. Snipers on those balconies would work, but you’d need some on each one, watching to make sure nobody gets beneath the other. Anyone with a strong enough gun—or the right Allomantic powers—could take out snipers from below. The pillars below the balconies would also be good shelter, though.
    The more cover there was, the better the situation for the one who was outnumbered. Not that you ever wanted to be outnumbered, but he’d rarely been in any fight where he wasn’t. So he looked for cover. In the open, a gunfight came down to who could field the most men with weapons. But once you could hide, skill and experience started to compensate. Maybe this room wouldn’t be too bad a place to fight after all. He—
    He hesitated. What was he doing? He’d made his decision. Did he have to keep remaking it every few days?
    “Marasi,” he said, forcing himself into conversation. “Your cousin tells me you’ve entered into university studies?”
    “I’m in my final year,” she said.
    He waited for a further reply, and didn’t get one.
    “And how go your studies?”
    “Well,” she said, and looked down, holding her napkin.
    That was productive, he thought with a sigh. Fortunately, it looked like a server was approaching. The lean man began pouring wine for them. “The soup will be along presently,” he explained with a faint Terris accent, lofty vowels, and a slightly nasal tone.
    The voice froze Waxillium stiff.
    “Today’s soup,” the server continued, “is a delightfully seasoned prawn bisque with a hint of pepper. You shall find it quite enjoyable, I think.” He glanced at Waxillium, eyes twinkling in amusement. Though he wore a false nose and a wig, those were Wayne’s eyes.
    Waxillium groaned softly.
    “My lord doesn’t like prawns?” Wayne asked with horror.
    “The bisque is quite good,” Lord Harms said. “I’ve had it at a Yomen party before.”
    “It’s not the soup,” Waxillium said. “I’ve just recalled something I forgot to do.” It involves strangling someone.
    “I shall return shortly with your soup, my lords and ladies,” Wayne promised. He even had a fake line of Terris earrings in his ears. Of course, Wayne was part Terris, as was Waxillium himself—as evidenced by their Feruchemical abilities. That was rare in the population; though nearly a fifth of the Originators had been Terris, they weren’t prone to marrying other ethnicities.
    “Does that server look familiar?” Marasi asked, turning and watching him go.
    “He must have served us last time we were here,” Lord Harms said.
    “But I wasn’t with you last—”
    “Lord Harms,” Waxillium jumped in, “has anything been heard of your relative? The one who was kidnapped by the Vanishers?”
    “No,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “Ruin those thieves. This kind of thing is absolutely unacceptable. They should confine such behavior to the Roughs!”
    “Yes,” Steris said, “it does somewhat undermine one’s respect for the constabulary when things like this occur. And the robbery inside the city! How terrible.”
    “What was it like?” Marasi suddenly asked. “Lord Ladrian? Living where there was no law?” She seemed genuinely curious, though her comment earned a glare from Lord Harms, likely for bringing up Waxillium’s past.
    “It was difficult sometimes,” Waxillium admitted. “Out there, some people just believe they can take what they want. It would actually surprise them when someone stood up to them. As if I were some spoiler, the only one who didn’t understand the game they were all playing.”
    “Game?” Lord Harms said, frowning.
    “A figure of speech, Lord Harms,” Waxillium said. “You see, they all seemed to think that if you were skilled or well armed, you could take whatever you want. I was both, and yet instead of