He spent a moment of hesitation. Wax was down. But Marasi … what had happened to her? Wayne couldn’t spot her anywhere, though the Coinshot had cover beside some machinery, and he had her gun. That spoke loads.
Wax would want him to go help the girl.
Gritting his teeth, Wayne turned and dashed toward the Coinshot.
* * *
Waxillium groaned, stretching against the pain and pulling the small two-shooter from his ankle holster. He’d dropped Vindication in the blast—Ranette was going to kill him for that—and he’d left his other gun up above when grabbing Marasi. He was down to this.
He unsuccessfully tried to cock the tiny pistol with a shaking hand. He didn’t dare prod to feel the extent of his wounds. His leg and arm had been flayed.
Mist continued to flood down from the hole above. It had mostly enveloped this side of the room. With despair, Waxillium realized that his two-shooter had been damaged in the blast, and the hammer no longer cocked. Not that it would be of any use against Miles anyway.
He groaned again, leaning his head back against the floor. I thought I asked for a little help.
A voice returned to him, distinct and unexpected. And a little is what you received, I think.
Waxillium started. Well … could I have some more, then? Um, please?
I must be careful in playing favorites, the voice inside his mind replied. It upsets the balance.
You’re God. Isn’t playing favorites kind of the point?
No, the voice replied. The point is Harmony, creating a way for as many as possible to make their own choices.
Waxillium lay staring up at the swirling mists. The blast had dazed him worse than he’d thought.
Are you divine, the voice asked of him, as Miles claims that Allomancers are?
I … Waxillium thought. If I were, I doubt I’d be in this much pain.
Then what are you?
This is a very bizarre conversation, Waxillium thought back.
Yes.
How can you see things like what has been done by the Vanishers, Waxillium asked, and not do something to help?
I have done something to help. I sent you.
Waxillium breathed out, blowing the mists in front of him. What Miles had said bothered him: Is there any doubt we’ve been given this for a reason?
Waxillium gritted his teeth, then forced himself to stand. He felt better in the mists. The wounds didn’t seem so bad. The pain didn’t seem so sharp. But he was still unarmed. Still cornered. Still …
Suddenly he recognized the box right in front of him. It was his own trunk. The one he’d taken with him when first leaving for the Roughs, twenty years ago. The one—now battered and aged—he’d brought back with him to the City.
The one he’d filled with his guns on that night months ago. There was a tassel from a mistcoat hanging out of one side.
You’re welcome, the voice whispered.
* * *
Marasi hid in the shadows behind the broken train car, anxious, her heart pounding. The Coinshot had come hunting her after what she’d done to his friend. With his Allomancy, he’d have been able to see her wherever she ran, despite the darkness and the mist, so she’d tucked the rifle behind a few boxes and hid elsewhere.
It felt cowardly, but it had worked. He’d shot a few times into the boxes, then walked around and picked up the gun, looking baffled. He’d obviously expected to find her bleeding and dead.
Instead, she was simply unarmed. She had to get to a weapon, had to do something. Wayne had been shot; he’d lured the Coinshot away, but he’d been dripping blood when she’d seen him.
The room was chaos, and it left her disoriented. Wayne had told her that the dynamite sticks they had were relatively small ones, but detonating them in close confines was still enormously, painfully loud. The gunshots were nearly so. The air smelled of smoke, and when gunshots weren’t sounding, she could faintly hear men groaning and cursing and dying.
Before the Vanishers had appeared at the wedding dinner, she’d never been in any kind of fight. Now she didn’t know what to do; she’d even lost track of which direction was which. The room was dark, lit only by flickering flames, and the mists made apparitions around her.
Some Vanishers were huddled together, guarding the mouth of the tunnel with the koloss-blooded man. She could barely make them out when she peered out of her hiding place. They held their guns leveled. She couldn’t go that way.
A figure strode from the darkness nearby, and she barely held in a gasp. She recognized Miles Hundredlives from his description. Narrow face, short dark hair. He was stripped to the waist, exposing a powerful chest. His trousers were in tatters. He was counting the bullets in a revolver, and was the only one in the room who wasn’t creeping or cowering. His legs kicked up mist, which now coated the floor.
He stopped by the Vanishers at the mouth of the tunnel and said something she couldn’t hear. They ducked away, retreating down the passage. Miles didn’t follow them, but strode through the room, getting closer to Marasi. She held her breath, hoping he’d pass closely enough to her hiding place for …
A rustle of cloth sounded, and the Coinshot dropped into place beside Miles. Miles stopped, raising an eyebrow.
“Pull is dead,” the Coinshot said. Marasi could barely hear him, but she could tell that his voice was taut with anger. “I’ve been trying to end the short one. He keeps leading me on chases through the room.”
“I believe I have said before,” Miles said, voice loud and bold, “that Wayne and Waxillium are like rats. Chasing them is useless. You need to draw them to you.”
Marasi leaned forward, breathing shallowly, as quietly as she could. Miles was almost close enough. A few more steps …
Miles snapped his revolver closed. “Waxillium crawled somewhere. I lost him, but he’s wounded and unarmed.” Then Miles turned and pointed the revolver directly at Marasi’s hiding place. “Call for him if you would, Lady Marasi.”
She froze, feeling a sharp stab of horror. Miles’s face was calm. Icy. Emotionless. He would kill her without a second thought.
“Call for him,” Miles said more firmly. “Scream.”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She could only stare at that gun. Her training in the university told her to do as he ordered, then run the moment he turned away. But she couldn’t move.
The mist-shrouded shadows at the corner of the room began to shift. She ripped her gaze away from Miles. Something dark moved in the mists. A man, standing up tall.
The mists seemed to draw back. Waxillium stood there, wearing a large, dusterlike coat, cut into strips below the waist. A pair of revolvers gleamed in holsters at his hips, and he rested a shotgun on each shoulder. His face was bloodied, but he was smiling.
Without saying a word, he lowered the shotguns and blasted Miles in the side.
19
Shooting Miles was, of course, useless. The man could survive a dynamite explosion at close range. He could take a few shotgun blasts.
But the shots caused the Coinshot to Push himself away in alarm. They also left Miles sprayed with metal. Wax increased his weight and Pushed, though he found it hard to get a purchase on the birdshot. Any metal that pierced a person’s body or touched his blood was very difficult to affect with Allomancy.
Fortunately, Miles’s body obliged him by healing itself and spitting out the birdshot. In the instant before it could drop to the floor, Wax’s Push suddenly found anchors, and he threw Miles across the room and into the wall.
The Coinshot landed on the other side of the room. Waxillium dashed forward, mistcoat flapping. Damn, but it felt good to be wearing one of those again. He skidded to a stop beside Marasi, taking cover next to the railcar.
“I almost had him,” Marasi said.
“Waxillium!” Miles bellowed, his voice echoing in the room. “All you do is stall. Well, know this. My men have gone to kill the woman you came here to save. If you want her to live, give yourself to me. We—”
His voice cut off strangely. Wax frowned as something moved behind Marasi. She jumped, and Wax pointed a shotgun, but it turned out to be Wayne.
“Hey,” he said, puffing. “Nice gun.”
“Thanks,” Wax said, shouldering it, noting the speed bubble around them. That was what had stopped Miles’s voice. “Your arm?”
Wayne glanced down at the bloody bandage around his left arm. “Not so good. I’m outta healing, lost some blood. I’m slowing, Wax. Slowing too much. You look pretty beat-up yourself.”
“I’ll survive.” Wax’s leg was throbbing, his face scraped up, but he felt surprisingly good. He always felt that way, in the mists.
“The things he’s saying,” Marasi said. “You think he’s telling the truth?”
“He might be, Wax,” Wayne said urgently. “The blokes who was set up in front of the tunnel, they charged off a few shakes back. Looked like they had something important to do.”
“Miles did tell them something,” Marasi added.
“Damn,” Wax said, glancing around the corner of the railcar. Miles might be bluffing … but then again, he might not be. It wasn’t a chance Wax could take. “That Coinshot is going to make things difficult. We need to take him down.”
“What happened to Ranette’s fancy gun?” Wayne asked.
“Not sure,” Wax said with a grimace.
“Wow. She’s gonna rip out your insides, mate.”
“I’ll be sure to blame you for it,” Wax said, still watching the Coinshot. “He’s good. Dangerous. We’ll never take out Miles unless that Allomancer is dead.”
“But you’ve got those special bullets,” Marasi noted.
“One,” Wax said, slipping a shotgun into its holster inside his coat. He pulled out the other Coinshot round. “I don’t think an ordinary revolver will fire this. I…”
He trailed off, then looked at Marasi. She was raising an eyebrow at him.
“Right,” Wax said. “Can you two keep Miles busy?”
“No problem,” Wayne said.
“Let’s go, then,” Wax said, taking a deep breath. “One last try.”
Wayne met his eyes and nodded. Wax saw tension in his friend’s face. The two of them were battered and bloodied, low on metals, metalminds drained.
But they’d been here before. And this was when they tended to shine their brightest.
As the speed bubble fell, Wax ran out from behind the train car. He tossed the bullet into the air ahead of him, then Pushed on it with a quick snap of power. The Coinshot raised his hand with casual confidence, Pushing it right back at Wax.
The casing and bullet proper broke free and flipped toward Wax, who deflected them easily, but the ceramic tip continued forward. It took the Coinshot right in the eye.
Bless you, Ranette, Wax thought, leaping up and Pushing off the coins in a fallen Vanisher’s pocket. That launched him forward, into the tunnel. There were tracks on the ground here, as if this were built for a train.
Wax frowned in puzzlement, but Pushed on them, heedlessly hurling himself through the darkness until he reached a set of stairs leading upward. The ceiling here was wood; a structure of some sort had been built over the tunnel. He charged into the stairwell, which led up to the wooden building, perhaps a barrack or dormitory.
