Dockson strolled up next to Kelsier, then leaned against the battlement, resting a pair of stout arms on the stone. “You’re a few days late, Kell.”
“I decided to make a few extra stops in the plantations to the north.”
“Ah,” Dockson said. “So you did have something to do with Lord Tresting’s death.”
Kelsier smiled. “You could say that.”
“His murder caused quite a stir among the local nobility.”
“That was kind of the intention,” Kelsier said. “Though, to be honest, I wasn’t planning anything quite so dramatic. It was almost more of an accident than anything else.”
Dockson raised an eyebrow. “How do you ‘accidentally’ kill a nobleman in his own mansion?”
“With a knife in the chest,” Kelsier said lightly. “Or, rather, a pair of knives in the chest—it always pays to be careful.”
Dockson rolled his eyes.
“His death isn’t exactly a loss, Dox,” Kelsier said. “Even among the nobility, Tresting had a reputation for cruelty.”
“I don’t care about Tresting,” Dockson said. “I’m just considering the state of insanity that led me to plan another job with you. Attacking a provincial lord in his manor house, surrounded by guards … Honestly, Kell, I’d nearly forgotten how foolhardy you can be.”
“Foolhardy?” Kelsier asked with a laugh. “That wasn’t foolhardy—that was just a small diversion. You should see some of the things I’m planning to do!”
Dockson stood for a moment, then he laughed too. “By the Lord Ruler, it’s good to have you back, Kell! I’m afraid I’ve grown rather boring during the last few years.”
“We’ll fix that,” Kelsier promised. He took a deep breath, ash falling lightly around him. Skaa cleaning crews were already back at work on the streets below, brushing up the dark ash. Behind, a guard patrol passed, nodding to Kelsier and Dockson. They waited in silence for the men to pass.
“It’s good to be back,” Kelsier finally said. “There’s something homey about Luthadel—even if it is a depressing, stark pit of a city. You have the meeting organized?”
Dockson nodded. “We can’t start until this evening, though. How’d you get in, anyway? I had men watching the gates.”
“Hmm? Oh, I snuck in last night.”
“But how—” Dockson paused. “Oh, right. That’s going to take some getting used to.”
Kelsier shrugged. “I don’t see why. You always work with Mistings.”
“Yes, but this is different,” Dockson said. He held up a hand to forestall further argument. “No need, Kell. I’m not hedging—I just said it would take some getting used to.”
“Fine. Who’s coming tonight?”
“Well, Breeze and Ham will be there, of course. They’re very curious about this mystery job of ours—not to mention rather annoyed that I won’t tell him what you’ve been up to these last few years.”
“Good,” Kelsier said with a smile. “Let them wonder. How about Trap?”
Dockson shook his head. “Trap’s dead. The Ministry finally caught up with him a couple months ago. Didn’t even bother sending him to the Pits—they beheaded him on the spot.”
Kelsier closed his eyes, exhaling softly. It seemed that the Steel Ministry caught up with everyone eventually. Sometimes, Kelsier felt that a skaa Misting’s life wasn’t so much about surviving as it was about picking the right time to die.
“This leaves us without a Smoker,” Kelsier finally said, opening his eyes. “You have any suggestions?”
“Ruddy,” Dockson said.
Kelsier shook his head. “No. He’s a good Smoker, but he’s not a good enough man.”
Dockson smiled. “Not a good enough man to be on a thieving crew … Kell, I have missed working with you. All right, who then?”
Kelsier thought for a moment. “Is Clubs still running that shop of his?”
“As far as I know,” Dockson said slowly.
“He’s supposed to be one of the best Smokers in the city.”
“I suppose,” Dockson said. “But … isn’t he supposed to be kind of hard to work with?”
“He’s not so bad,” Kelsier said. “Not once you get used to him. Besides, I think he might be … amenable to this particular job.”
“All right,” Dockson said, shrugging. “I’ll invite him. I think one of his relatives is a Tineye. Do you want me to invite him too?”
“Sounds good,” Kelsier said.
“All right,” Dockson said. “Well, beyond that, there’s just Yeden. Assuming he’s still interested …”
“He’ll be there,” Kelsier said.
“He’d better be,” Dockson said. “He’ll be the one paying us, after all.”
Kelsier nodded, then frowned. “You didn’t mention Marsh.”
Dockson shrugged. “I warned you. Your brother never did approve of our methods, and now … well, you know Marsh. He won’t even have anything to do with Yeden and the rebellion anymore, let alone with a bunch of criminals like us. I think we’ll have to find someone else to infiltrate the obligators.”
“No,” Kelsier said. “He’ll do it. I’ll just have to stop by to persuade him.”
“If you say so.” Dockson fell silent then, and the two stood for a moment, leaning against the railing and looking out over the ash-stained city.
Dockson finally shook his head. “This is insane, eh?”
Kelsier smiled. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Dockson nodded. “Fantastic.”
“It will be a job like no other,” Kelsier said, looking north—across the city and toward the twisted building at its center.
Dockson stepped away from the wall. “We have a few hours before the meeting. There’s something I want to show you. I think there’s still time—if we hurry.”
Kelsier turned with curious eyes. “Well, I was going to go and chastise my prude of a brother. But …”
“This will be worth your time,” Dockson promised.
Vin sat in the corner of the safe house’s main lair. She kept to the shadows, as usual; the more she stayed out of sight, the more the others would ignore her. She couldn’t afford to expend Luck keeping the men’s hands off of her. She’d barely had time to regenerate what she’d used a few days before, during the meeting with the obligator.
The usual rabble lounged at tables in the room, playing at dice or discussing minor jobs. Smoke from a dozen different pipes pooled at the top of the chamber, and the walls were stained dark from countless years of similar treatment. The floor was darkened with patches of ash. Like most thieving crews, Camon’s group wasn’t known for its tidiness.
There was a door at the back of the room, and beyond it lay a twisting stone stairway that led up to a false rain grate in an alleyway. This room, like so many others hidden in the imperial capital of Luthadel, wasn’t supposed to exist.
Rough laughter came from the front of the chamber, where Camon sat with a half-dozen cronies enjoying a typical afternoon of ale and crass jokes. Camon’s table sat beside the bar, where the overpriced drinks were simply another way Camon exploited those who worked for him. The Luthadel criminal element had learned quite well from the lessons taught by the nobility.