Nobody knew which would end up proving the taller, though friendly wagers were common. Rumors he’d heard at this very party, credible ones, claimed that both would eventually top out at over fifty stories. The architects continued to release updated reports of how high they intended to go, each one trying to outdo the other. Both were unfinished, but their steelwork lattices already rose high into the sky. An evening railway engine called a greeting as it chugged through the distant center of the city, hemming the mists with darker smoke.ĭown Demoux Promenade, Wax had a good view of both the Ironspine Building and Tekiel Tower, one on either side of the canal. They glowed like bubbles along the wide boulevard, which was flanked by the even wider canal, the still and quiet waters reflecting the light. A double row of bright electric lamps with a steady, blazing whiteness. No one joined him on the balcony.įrom this vantage, he had a perfect view of the lights down Demoux Promenade. Cett Mansion was a grand place, full of expensive woods, soft carpets, and sparkling chandeliers. Crisp, clean, like the sky cracking.īehind him, he could hear musical laughter coming from the warmth of the room. He had left the Roughs, moved back to the city, answering the desperate summons to do his duty to his house at his uncle’s passing.įive months and a world away, and he could still hear that gunshot. Though it had been five months since Lessie’s death, he could still hear the gunshot, see the blood sprayed on the bricks. A place that hadn’t been his home for twenty years. It was the grandest city in all the world, a metropolis designed by Harmony himself.
He opened his eyes, and rested his hands on the balcony railing to look out over Elendel. Have I simply forgotten about that, or did I not notice it when I was younger? suffocating here in the city, he thought. He closed his eyes, taking the air in and out, feeling the faint wetness of the mists on the skin of his face.
There, finally, he felt like he could breathe again. Outside the windows, he could see mist tickling the glass.ĭefying decorum, Wax pushed his way through the room’s enormous glass double doors and stepped out onto the mansion’s grand balcony. He deliberately made his way to one of the back rooms of the party, where dazzling electric lights-the talk of the city-produced a steady, too-even light to ward off the evening’s gloom. He nodded to each, but avoided being drawn into conversation. They called him “Lord Waxillium” or “Lord Ladrian” when they spoke to him. Five months later, Wax walked through the decorated rooms of a large, lively party, passing men in dark suits with tailcoats and women in colorful dresses with narrow waists and lots of folds through long pleated skirts.
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