3
Marasi studied the footprints in the dust. They appeared to be a few weeks old, as they’d gathered dust themselves. She walked over to Wayne, who was inspecting the path farther down into the depths: an arduous-looking tunnel with a steep decline. He glanced at her.
“If they’re slippin’ in and out of the city fast,” he said, “they musta found a different way out of here. They aren’t makin’ this hike regularly.”
“Agreed,” she said. “We should be stealthy anyway, in case they posted lookouts.”
In response, he turned his lantern down and whispered, “You want to continue without backup?”
“For now. We want to scout and see what we find. I don’t want to mobilize everyone for a dead end.”
Together, the two of them struck forward through the tunnel. The difficulty of the path and its apparent lack of traffic encouraged her. If the enemy was down here but used a different route, then taking this path meant she and Wayne were less likely to be discovered.
They took the decline carefully. Rusts … thank goodness she had trousers on. If she was going to slip and break her skull, she could at least do it with dignity. Or as much dignity as a woman could manage after hiking through sewage for an hour.
She distracted herself by imagining that these caverns must be as old as the Ascendant Warrior—or even older. These tunnels had slumbered through the destruction of the world, through the Catacendre, through the rise and fall of the Final Empire. Had the stones they walked past broken loose from the ceiling during the days of the Ashmounts?
She couldn’t help wondering if they would stumble across the mythical Survivor’s Cradle—the Pits of Hathsin—though she knew that was foolish. Wax said he had been to them, and had found no magical metals of lore.
They eventually hit a particularly deep shaft down; it was essentially vertical, though with a lot of obstructions and clefts in the stone to climb on. Wayne brightened their lantern again, looking doubtful.
“We sure they came this way?” he asked in a whisper.
“Who else would have made the footprints?”
“Footprints?”
“In the dust? And near the opening, they were crusted over with sewage from boots? Seriously, Wayne, you can be remarkably oblivious for a detective.”
“You and Wax are detectives,” he said. “Not me.”
“What are you then?”
“Bullet stopper,” he said. “Skull knocker. Guy who occasionally gets exploded.”
“We’ll be doing nothing like that today,” Marasi whispered. “We will peek in, see if I’m right, then get out for clearance and support.”
“Guess we’ll be comin’ back up this way then,” he said with a sigh, then dug the climbing rope out of his canvas backpack. He found a sturdy rock formation to tie it around, then tossed the other side down into the darkness.
He started down first, then Marasi followed, rifle slung across her back. The descent proved easier than she’d feared, as the rope had knots in it. Still, her arms were soon burning.
“So,” Wayne said softly, dangling below, keeping pace with her instead of going on ahead, “wanna hear my list of ways how women break the laws of physics?”
“Depends,” Marasi said. “How misogynistic is it? Can you give me a number on some kind of scale?”
“Uh … thirteen?”
“Out of what?”
“Seventeen?”
“What kind of insane scale is that?” she whispered, halting atop a boulder and glancing down at him. “Why in the world would you pick seventeen? Why not, at least, sixteen?”
“I don’t know! You’re the one what asked me for a scale. Look, this is good. Women. Break the laws of physics. I’ve been thinkin’ on this forever. Couple days at least. You’ll like it.”
“I’m sure.”
“Way one,” he said, sliding to the next outcropping. “When they take off clothes, they get hotter. Strange, eh? Normal folks, they get colder when they take off—”
“Normal folks?” she repeated, following him. “By normal, you mean men?”
“Uh … I guess.”
“So half the world is not normal? Women are not normal?”
“It sounds a little silly when you say it like that.”
“You think?”
“Look, I just wanted to point out something interesting. Useful observationalizing ’bout the nature of the cosmere and the relationship between the genders.”
“I think you thought of something that amused you, and wanted an excuse to say it.” She landed on the little platform next to him, and below she could finally see the bottom. They were roughly halfway.
He met her eyes. “So … uh … fourteen then?” he said. “Outta seventeen.”
“And rising. It’s not even true, Wayne. Plenty of men get hotter when they take off clothing. Depends on the man.”
He grinned. “What about Allik?”
“With Allik, it’s more the mask.”
“He raises the rusting thing so often, makes you wonder why he wears it in the first place.”
“Moving the mask is like … emphasis to the Malwish. It’s not wrong to let people see under the mask, though they pretend it’s taboo—and maybe it was once upon a time. Now they like the way they can use it to express themselves.”
He swung over the side and continued down. She gave him a little space, then followed.
“So…” he said. “Want to hear number two?”
“Actually … I kind of do.”
“Ha! I thought so. Wax would have said no.”
“Wax had years to get accustomed to the depths of your depravity, Wayne. To me, it’s still remarkable how you manage to dig yourself deeper each and every time.”
“Fair enough. Number two: Ask a woman how much she weighs. Then lift her. She’ll have increased in weight. Feruchemists, every one.”
“Wayne, that joke is so tired, it slept through breakfast.”
“What. Really?”
“Absolutely. My father was making stupid cracks about women lying about their weight when I was a child.”
“Damn. Old blustering Harms made that joke?” He looked up at her with wide eyes. “Oh, hell, Marasi. Am I getting old? Was that an old man joke?”
“I have no comment.”
“Damn conners and their damn tight lips.” He reached the bottom and dropped off the rope softly, with a rustle of cloth and boots on stone, then held the rope steady for her.
She climbed the rest of the way to join him. “So, what’s number three on the list?”
“I don’t got one yet.”
“It’s a list of two items, one of which was dumb?”
“Two of which was dumb,” he said sullenly. “One was apparently also geriatric. Same jokes as Lord Harms. I’m losing my edge, I am.” He met her eyes, then grinned. “Does this mean I get to be the grumpy old one in the partnership? You can be the young spunky one what swears all the time and makes bad life decisions.”
She grinned. “Do I get a lucky hat?”