“And conversely, consider that most men who go to the Roughs adapt to the general climate of lax sensibilities there. But some others—a few remarkable individuals—determine to bring civilization with them. A hundred men, convinced by society that ‘everybody does it this way,’ will go along with the most crude and despicable of acts. But one man says no.”

“It’s really not as heroic as all that,” Waxillium said.

“I’m certain it doesn’t look that way to you.”

“Have you ever heard the story of the first man I brought in?”

She blushed. “I… yes. Yes, let’s just say that I’ve heard it. Peret the Black. A rapist and an Allomancer—Pewterarm, I believe. You walked into the lawkeeper station, looked at the board, ripped his picture off and took it with you. Came back three days later with him over the saddle of your horse. Of all the men on the board, you picked the most difficult, most dangerous criminal of the bunch.”

“He was worth the most money.”

Marasi frowned.

“I looked at that board,” Waxillium said, “and I thought to myself, ‘Well, any of these blokes is right likely to kill me. So I might as well pick the one worth the most.’ I needed the money. I hadn’t had anything to eat in three days but jerky and a few beans. And then there was Taraco.”

“One of the great bandits of our era.”

“With him,” Waxillium said, “I figured I could get some new boots. He’d robbed a cobbler just a few days earlier, and I thought if I brought the man in, I might manage to get a new pair of boots out of it.”

“I thought you’d picked him because he’d shot a lawkeeper over in Faradana the week before.”

Waxillium shook his head. “I didn’t hear that until after I brought him in.”

“Oh.” Then, remarkably, she smiled in eagerness. “And Harrisel Hard?”

“A bet with Wayne,” Waxillium said. “You don’t look disappointed.”

“This just makes it more real, Lord Waxillium,” she said. Her eager eyes glittered in an almost predatory way. “I need to write these down.” She fished in her handbag, pulling out a pad and pencil.

“So that’s what motivated you?” Waxillium asked as she scribbled notes. “You study out of a desire to be a hero, like in the stories?”

“No, no,” she said. “I just wanted to learn about them.”

“Are you sure?” he said. “You could become a lawkeeper, go out to the Roughs, live these same stories. Don’t think that you can’t because you’re a woman; high society might lead you to believe that, but it doesn’t matter out beyond the mountains. Out there, you don’t have to wear lacy dresses or smell like flowers. You can belt on some revolvers and make your own rules. Don’t forget, the Ascendant Warrior herself was a woman.”

She leaned forward. “Can I admit something to you, Lord Waxillium?”

“Only if it’s salacious, personal, or embarrassing.”

She smiled. “I like the lacy dresses and smelling like flowers. I like living in the city, where I can demand modern conveniences. Do you realize I can send for Terris food at any hour of the night, and have it delivered?”