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“You’ve always watched us, my boy,” Breeze said. It was midafternoon, the sun high and bright in the blue sky–still a strange sight, even after six months. Spook had come to train in emotional Allomancy, as he did nearly every day. The boy had a knack for it, more than Vin ever did. She may have learned to make people dismiss her, but Spook spent most of his adolescence watching passersby, trying to gauge their intent, their loyalties. He understood people instinctively, and had the patience to figure out their emotional state before beginning to Soothe.
The skill of his apprentice, in Breeze’s estimation, almost made up for the loss of a cupbearer. Why, lately, Breeze had taken to fetching his own wine.
Breeze saw the confusion in Spook’s eyes and smiled. “Don’t think I didn’t notice,” he said, using his dueling cane to point at Spook. “You always hung about at the edges of our meetings, back before the Collapse. Watching. Listening. Terribly unnerving, if you ask me.”
“Breezy,” Allrianne whispered, Rioting his politeness. He shrugged off her touch.
“Nevertheless, I can only imagine the sorts of things you saw.”
“Breeze, what are you talking about?” Spook asked.
Breeze felt a feather-touch on his emotions, Rioting his impatience. Prodding him to get to the point. “Come, now, Spook,” he said, taking a slow drink. “I know you’re better than that. A Pull like that would only work on me if Hammond’s around to exasperate me.”
Spook chuckled, his frustration dampened by Breeze’s careful Soothing. “Willing of the working if the where of this again,” he muttered.
Breeze rolled his eyes, but took the chance to further dull the boy’s anxiety. Lord Ruler, but it was rare enough to see Spook relax. “Yes, yes,” he said, feeling the boy’s hand on his emotions again. He didn’t fight it this time, but let the boy have a victory. “You’ve made your point quite infuriatingly.”
Spook’s smile widened. Breeze looked at Allrianne, who Rioted his gratitude.
Yes. The smile was her doing.
It was no accident these training sessions were among the only times Breeze saw the boy acting upbeat.
Well. These training sessions, and evenings spent with Beldre. “Practicing with steel and iron.” A convenient excuse.
He smiled at that thought. “Returning to the point at hand.” Breeze gave Spook a hard look over the rim of his wineglass. Yes, I feel you Rioting my impatience again. The boy had promise, but six months wasn’t long enough to make him a master.
Especially since the boy, like Elend, had unusual weight behind his Allomancy. It had taken him some time to learn even this much subtlety.
“The point being that I’m creepy and unnerving?” Spook asked. He smiled again, but Breeze saw tension creeping back into his eyes.
Breeze resisted the urge to Soothe it away. The boy was still recovering from his last addiction. I have no right to make him dependent upon a different form of Allomancy. Sighing, Breeze set his wine aside. “The point being that you’ve seen far more than the rest of us. I can’t help but think the skaa might be blessed if you shared that vision with them.”
He saw Spook consider the notion. The boy had a certain soft spot for the skaa—though in truth it was getting hard to continue thinking of them as skaa. The return of flowers had made dyes many times cheaper than they had been under the Lord Ruler. It was rare now to see a skaa dressed in the old grays. Yellows and greens were popular lately, and Breeze had seen the occasional walking rainbow defying all fashion sense. Ash no longer stained their world. Music and laughter filled skaa tenements—which themselves were cleaner and less crowded than before.
Much of the changes had come about because of Spook’s influence. He visited the skaa frequently, organized food distribution, spoke with members of the Assembly about reforms. The skaa called him the Lord Mistborn, regarded him as they had Elend, though Spook had so far sought no political office.
Breeze was working on that. He’d had quite enough responsibility for one lifetime. Spook still looked suspicious, so Breeze sent another Soothing his way.
“What are you saying?” Spook asked. His eyes narrowed; with his bronze on he would have sensed Breeze’s Soothing, even if he couldn’t pinpoint the emotions Breeze had targeted.
Allrianne huffed. “We’re saying you ought to be a painter.”
“A…painter?” Spook raised an eyebrow at her, then turned to Breeze as though for confirmation.
Dear Allrianne, Breeze thought fondly. For all her Allomantic subtlety, she rarely bothered with tactful conversation. “Yes,” he said to Spook. “I think it would suit you.”
“And help you relax,” Allrianne added.
Breeze Soothed Spook even as his tension returned. He didn’t like being confronted about these sorts of things.
“I…don’t know,” Spook said, shifting in his seat. It made him look like the scrawny, restless boy Breeze had met five years before. “I’ve never been much of an artist. Nothing like Uncle Clubs.”
“That’s alright,” said Allrianne, popping up out of her chair. She scurried across the room to fetch a package wrapped in thick brown paper and tied with twine. “Just give it a try. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work.”
She held out the package. For a moment, Spook only stared at it. Then the ache in his eyes softened to melancholy, even nostalgia. He shook himself and met Allrianne’s eyes, just a hint of exasperation seeping through his pain. Allrianne smiled.
“Just once?”
Spook scowled. Breeze wondered if Spook knew how much he looked like Clubs when he did that. Finally, Spook accepted the package. “Just once.”
-
Spook waited till he was alone to open the package. It was square and flat, a second, lumpy parcel tied to the front. Spook wasn’t at all surprised to find a canvas and paints within.
He was surprised by the envelope tucked in with the canvas.
Spook, the letter read in Breeze’s hand. He wrote with more flair, even, than Allrianne—which was saying quite a lot.
This belonged to your uncle. Sazed had it made for him shortly before the battle of Luthadel. It is, as I understand it, a token of the Dadradah religion. They preached some nonsense about art bringing one closer to the divine. I don’t know. I’m sure Sazed’s books would tell you more about them.
You may find it noteworthy, however, that Clubs was wearing this token when he died.
Spook’s breathing quickened as he dumped out the other item tucked into the envelope. A simple wooden disc, carved with the image of a brush.
He’d heard Breeze and Sazed talking about it during the chaos in Urteau. They were always careful not to mention Clubs when Spook was around, but they’d had no way to know how sensitive his ears had become. So he knew that Sazed had managed to convert Clubs to one of his dead religions.
Spook turned the token over in his hand. He didn’t know if Clubs had truly believed, or if it was just a soldier’s superstition telling him that even a dead god’s token was good luck.
Did it matter?
Art was a worthwhile endeavor, whether or not it was divine. Clubs had always believed that. Spook had believed it, too, though he’d never had the skill to produce something that matched his vision. A Tineye, he supposed, was too good at spotting discrepancies.
But even so, his uncle had valued art.
And maybe, just maybe, Clubs would be happy knowing Spook was following in his uncle’s footsteps.