“Wayne,” Marasi said, “that’s Professor Hanlanaze. He’s a brilliant mathematician.”

“Hm,” Wayne said, rubbing his chin. “From the university.”

“No, from New Seran. He’s been behind some of the discoveries in combustion technology.”

Wayne perked up. “From outside the city. So people might not know him.”

“They will by reputation.”

“But personally?”

“He’s somewhat reclusive,” Marasi said. “He often gets invited to things like this, but rarely comes. Wayne, I see that look in your eye. You can’t imitate him.”

“What’s the worst that could come of it?”

“We get caught,” she said, still walking with him around the speed bubble. “We get thrown in prison, prosecuted for conspiracy, embarrass Waxillium.”

“Now that,” Wayne said, striding back to where he’d been standing when he’d sped up time, “is the best damn argument for trying this that anyone could make. Come back so I can drop this speed bubble. After that we’re gonna need to find us some weapons.”

Marasi paled, joining him. “If you are thinking of sneaking guns in—”

“Not guns,” Wayne said with a grin. “A different kind of weapon. Math.”

“So that kandra is in here,” Steris said softly from her place on Wax’s arm as she scanned the party room. “Somewhere.”

The penthouse of ZoBell Tower encompassed its entire top floor, with windows ringing the outside. Light from a dozen dim chandeliers played off wineglasses, diamond jewelry, sequins on sleek dresses. The dress style was new. Was he so oblivious to fashion that he had missed such a dramatic shift?

Steris wore more traditional attire—a kind of gauzy, draping white dress with a very small bustle and a distinct waist. However, it had sequins lining the collar and cuffs, and was more filmy—lighter than what she normally wore, and actually quite pretty on her. With the sequins, it shared something with these modern gowns.

The party attendees moved around several bars and numerous small displays set up on the red-carpeted floor. Wax and Steris passed one, a stand with a glass box enclosing a raw copper nugget as big as a man’s head. Light glimmered on its surface.

Allomantic metals, Wax thought as they passed another display. Dozens of specimens, with plaques talking about where the nugget or vein had been mined. They provoked conversations around the room, clusters of people chatting as light played off the colorful drinks in their fingers.

“You’re drawing attention,” Steris noted. “I’m not certain wearing the coat was a wise move.”

“The mistcoat is a symbol,” Wax said. “It is a reminder.” She’d talked him out of the hat, but not this.

“It makes you look like a ruffian.”

“It’s supposed to. Maybe they’ll think twice about lying to me; I don’t want to be part of their games.”

“You are already part of their games, Lord Waxillium.”