“I haven’t fired it,” Waxillium said. He eyed Wayne, who was grinning. “We’ve … er, been saving it for you. And I’m sure the rounds are of a much heavier alloy than the revolver itself, though I didn’t get a chance to test them yet. They’re lighter than lead rounds, but not even close to as light as nearly pure aluminum would be. The percentage is still high, but the alloy must solve most of those issues somehow.”
Ranette grunted. She waved the gun absently toward Marasi. “Who’s the ornament?”
“A friend,” Waxillium said. “Ranette, people are looking for us. Dangerous people. Can we come in?”
She tucked the revolver into her belt. “Fine. But if Wayne touches anything—anything—I’ll blow off the offending fingers.”
* * *
Marasi kept her tongue as they were led into the building. She wasn’t particularly fond of being referred to as an “ornament.” But she was fond of remaining unshot, and so silence seemed prudent.
She was good at silence. She had been trained to it over two decades of life.
Ranette closed the door behind them, then turned away. Shockingly, the locks on the door all did themselves, twisting in their mounts and clicking. There were nearly a dozen of them, and their sudden move caused Marasi to jump. What in the Survivor’s Deadly Name?
Ranette set her shotgun in a basket beside the door—it appeared that she kept it there the way ordinary people kept umbrellas—then sidled past them in the narrow hallway. She waved a hand, and some kind of lever beside the interior door lurched. The door sprang open as she walked to it.
Ranette was an Allomancer. Of course. That was why she’d been able to recognize the aluminum. As they reached the door, Marasi studied the contraption that had opened it. There was a lever that could be pulled, which in turn moved a rope, pulley, and lever arrangement on the other side.
There’s one on each side, Marasi realized as they stepped through the doorway. She can open her doors from either direction without needing to lift a hand. It seemed an indulgence. But, then, who was Marasi to critique another person’s use of their Allomancy? This would certainly be useful if you often walked about with your hands full.
The living room beyond had been converted to a workshop. There were large worktables on all four sides, and nails had been pounded into the walls to hang an impressive variety of tools. Marasi didn’t recognize any of the machinery that cluttered those tables, but there were a lot of clamps and gears. A disturbing number of electrical cords snaked across the floor.
Marasi stepped very carefully. Electricity couldn’t be dangerous when it was in cords, could it? She’d heard stories of people getting burned, as if struck by lightning, from getting too close to electrical devices. And people spoke of using this power for everything—replacing horses with it, making mills that ground grain on their own, using it to power elevators. Disturbing. Well, she’d keep her distance.
The door slammed shut behind them in response to Ranette’s Allomancy. She had to Pull on a lever for it, so that meant she was a Lurcher, not a Coinshot like Waxillium. Wayne was already poking through things on the desks, completely ignoring her threat to his fingers.
Waxillium surveyed the room, with its wires, windows—covered by shutters—and tools. “I assume it’s living up to your expectations?”
“What?” Ranette asked. “The city? It’s a pit. I don’t feel half as safe here as I did out in the Roughs.”
“Still can’t believe you abandoned us,” Wayne said, sounding hurt.
“You didn’t have electricity,” Ranette said, sitting at her desk in a chair with wheels on the bottom. She waved an absent hand, and a long, thin tool flipped out of a cubby on the wall. It flew toward her and she snatched it, then brought it down and began prodding at the gun Waxillium had given her. From what Marasi understood, gestures weren’t needed for Pushing or Pulling, but many used them anyway.
Ranette completely ignored her visitors as she worked. She Pulled a few more tools without looking up, causing them to streak across the room to her. One nearly clipped Marasi on the shoulder.
It was unusual to see Allomancy used so casually, and Marasi wasn’t certain what to make of it. On one hand, it was fascinating. On the other, it was humbling. What would it be like, to have a power that was useful? Lord Harms had insisted that Marasi keep her ability—such as it was—quiet, calling it unseemly. She could see through him. He wasn’t so much embarrassed to have an Allomancer daughter as to have one that was illegitimate. He couldn’t have Marasi looking like a better catch than Steris.
Bitter thoughts, she told herself, intentionally pushing them away. Bitterness could consume a woman. Best to keep it at arm’s length.
“This gun is good work,” Ranette said, though she sounded grudging. She’d donned some spectacles with a magnifying lens on them, and was in the process of staring down the barrel of the revolver while shining a small electric light into it. “You want me to figure out who made this, I assume?”
Waxillium turned to study a line of half-finished guns on one of the tables. “Actually,” he said, “we came here because we needed someplace safe to think for a few hours.”
“Your mansion isn’t safe?”
“My butler failed to poison me, then tried to shoot me, then set off an explosive in my study.”
“Huh.” She cocked the pistol a few times. “You need to screen these people better, Wax.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.” He picked up a pistol and sighted down its barrel. “I’m going to need a new Sterrion.”
“Like hell you will,” Ranette said. “What’s wrong with the ones you have?”
“Gave them to the aforementioned butler,” Waxillium said. “And he probably dumped them in the canals.”
“What of your Ambersairs? I made you one of those, didn’t I?”
“You did. I lost it fighting Miles Dagouter earlier today.”
This made Ranette stop. She lowered the aluminum gun, then turned her chair. “What?”
Waxillium drew his lips into a line. “He’s the one we’re hiding from.”
“Why,” Ranette said pointedly, “is Miles Hundredlives trying to kill you?”
Wayne strolled forward. “He’s trying to overthrow the city or something, dearie. For some reason, he thinks the best way to do that is by robbin’ folks and blowing up mansions.”
“Don’t call me dearie.”
“Sure thing, honey.”
Marasi watched in silence, curious. Wayne seemed to like taunting this woman. In fact, though he tried to act nonchalant, he kept glancing at her, and had been edging through the room closer and closer to her seat.
“Whatever,” Ranette said, turning back to her work. “Don’t really care. But you’re not getting a new Sterrion.”
“Nobody else’s guns shoot as straight as yours, Ranette.”
She didn’t reply. She did glare at Wayne, who had moved up to the point where he was leaning over her shoulder and looking at the gun.
Waxillium smiled, then turned back to the unfinished guns on the desk. Marasi joined him, uncertain what she should be doing. Hadn’t they come here to plan their next move? Neither Waxillium nor Wayne seemed eager to get on with things.
“Is there something between them?” Marasi whispered, nodding her head toward Wayne and Ranette. “She acts a little like a jilted lover.”
“Wayne could only wish,” Waxillium whispered back. “Ranette’s not interested in him like that. I’m not certain she’s interested in any man like that. Doesn’t stop him from trying, though.” He shook his head. “I’m half tempted to think that all of this—coming to Elendel to investigate the Vanishers, looking me up—was about eventually persuading me to come with him to Ranette’s. He knew she wouldn’t let him in unless he was with me and we were doing something important.”
“You’re a bizarre pair, you know.”
“We try.”
“So what’s our next move?”
“I’m
trying to decide. For now, if we linger long enough, she might give me a new revolver.”
“Either that, or she’ll shoot you for annoying her.”
“Nah. She’s never shot anyone after letting them in the door that I can recall. Not even Wayne.” He hesitated. “She’ll probably let you stay here, if you want. It would be safe. I’ll bet there’s a paid Coppercloud rotation going on in one of the nearby buildings, shrouding the area. Ranette hates people sensing her Allomancy. I doubt there are half a dozen people in Elendel who know she lives here. Harmony only knows how Wayne tracked her down.”
“I’d rather not stay. Please, whatever you’re doing, I want to help.”
He picked something up off the desk; a small box of bullets. “I can’t figure you out, Marasi Colms.”
“You’ve solved some of the most troubling crimes the Roughs have ever known, Lord Waxillium. I doubt I’m nearly as mysterious.”
“Your father is very well off,” Waxillium said. “From what I know of him, I’m certain he would have provided you with a comfortable endowment for the rest of your life. Instead, you attend university—choosing one of the most difficult programs of study offered.”
“You left a position of considerable comfort yourself,” she said, “choosing to live away from convenience and modernity.”
“I did.”
She selected one of the bullets out of the box, holding it up, looking it over. She couldn’t see anything distinctive about it. “Have you ever felt you were useless, Lord Waxillium?”
“Yes.”
“It’s difficult to imagine that of someone as accomplished as yourself.”
“Sometimes,” he said, “accomplishment and perception can work independently.”
“True. Well, my lord, I have spent most of my life being politely told I was useless. Useless to my father because of my birth; useless as an Allomancer; useless to Steris, as I was an embarrassment. Sometimes, accomplishment can temper perception. Or so I hope.”
He nodded. “I have something for you to do. It will be dangerous.”
She dropped the bullet into the box. “To be of use in even a single burst of flame and sound is worth more than a lifetime of achieving nothing.”
He met her eyes, judging her sincerity.
“You have a plan?” she asked.
“There isn’t much time for a plan. This is more of a hunch with scaffolding.” He held up the box of bullets, speaking more loudly. “Ranette, what are these?”
“Hazekiller rounds.”
“Hazekiller?” Marasi asked.
“It’s an ancient term,” Waxillium said. “For an ordinary person trained to fight Allomancers.”
“I’m working on ammunition for use against each basic type of Allomancer,” Ranette said absently. She’d unscrewed the grip of the pistol and was pulling it apart. “Those are Coinshot rounds. Ceramic tips. When they Push on the bullet as it flies toward them, they’ll yank off the metal portion at the back, but the ceramic should keep flying straight and hit them. Could be better than aluminum rounds—those, the Allomancer can’t sense at all, so he knows to take cover rather than relying on Pushes. These they’ll sense and assume they can beat—right up until they’re on the floor bleeding.”
Wayne whistled softly.
“Ruin, Ranette!” Waxillium said. “I’ve never been so glad we’re on the same side.” He hesitated. “Or, at least, that you’re on your own special side that we don’t happen to run afoul of too often.”
“What are you going to do with them?” Marasi asked.
“Do?” Ranette asked.
“Are you going to sell them?” Marasi said. “Patent the idea and license them?”
“If I did that, then everybody would have them!” Ranette shook her head, looking sick. “Half the people in the city would be here, bothering me.”
“Lurcher rounds?” Waxillium asked, holding up another box.
“Similar,” Ranette said, “but with the ceramic on the sides. Not quite as effective, at least at long range. Most Lurchers protect themselves by Pulling bullets to hit an armored plate at their chest. Those bullets, they explode when Pulled on, and you get a little shrapnel blast of ceramics. Should work at ten feet or so, though it might not be lethal. I suggest aiming for the head. I’m trying to get the range up.”
“Tineye rounds?”
“Make extra noise when fired,” Ranette said. “And another noise when they hit. Fire a few shots around them, and their enhanced senses will have them cowering on the floor, holding their ears. Pretty good if you want to take one alive, though with a Tineye, you’re going to have trouble finding them in the first place.”
“And Pewterarm rounds,” Waxillium said, studying the final box.
“Not really much special there,” Ranette said. “Large bullets, extra powder, wide hollow tips, soft metal—meant to have a lot of stopping power. A Pewterarm can keep going long after being shot a few times, so you want to knock them down and keep them there long enough for their body to realize it should be dying rather than fighting. Of course, the best way to drop one is just hit him in the head the first time.”
A Pewterarm wouldn’t be like Miles, capable of healing immediately. They had great endurance, and could ignore wounds—but those wounds would still kill them, eventually.
“Huh,” Waxillium said, holding up one of the long bullets. “None of these are a standard caliber. You’d need quite the gun to fire them.”
Ranette didn’t respond.
“This is nice work, Ranette,” Waxillium said. “Even for you. I’m impressed.”
Marasi expected the gruff woman to brush off the compliment, but Ranette smiled—though she obviously tried to hide her satisfaction. She buried her head in her work, and didn’t even bother to glare Wayne away. “So who are the people you said are in danger?”
“Hostages,” Waxillium said. “Women, including Marasi’s cousin. Someone is going to try to use them to breed new Allomancers.”
“And Miles is involved in that?”
“Yes.” Waxillium’s voice was solemn. Worried.
Ranette hesitated, still bent over the disassembled revolver. “Third cubby up,” she finally said. “All the way at the back.”
Waxillium walked over and reached a hand into the depths. He withdrew a sleek, silvery revolver with a grip that blended onyx and ivory in wavy stripes, separated by silver bands. It had a long barrel, the silvery metal so highly polished that it practically glowed in the even electric lights.
“That’s not a Sterrion,” Ranette said. “It’s better.”
“Eight chambers,” Waxillium said, raising an eyebrow as he turned the revolver’s cylinder.
“That’s Invarian steel,” Ranette said. “Stronger, lighter. It let me shave the thickness between chambers, increase the number without making it too big. See the lever on the back, below the hammer?”
He nodded.
“Hold it down and spin the wheel.”
He did so. The wheel locked on a certain chamber.
“It skips that chamber and the one beside it if you fire it normally,” Ranette said. “You can only fire them if you flip the lever.”
“Hazekiller rounds,” Waxillium said.
“Yeah. Load six ordinary shots, two special ones. Fire them when you need them. You burning steel?”
“I am now.”
“Metal lines in the grip.”
“See them.”
“Push the one on the left.”
Something clicked inside the gun. Waxillium whistled softly.
“What?” Wayne asked.
“Allomancer-only safety,” Waxillium said. “You have to be a Coinshot or a Lurcher to turn it off or on.”
“The switch is embedded inside the grip,” Ranette said. “No exterior sign that it’s there. With that, you’ll never have to worry about someone firing your own gun at you.”
“Ranette,” Waxillium said, sounding awed. “That’s genius.”
“I call
the gun Vindication,” she said. “After the Ascendant Warrior.” Then she hesitated. “You can borrow it. If you bring me a field-test report.”
Waxillium smiled.
“This is Nouxil’s work, by the way,” Ranette said, waving to her table.
“The aluminum gun?” Waxillium asked.
Ranette nodded. “I thought it might be so from the shape of the barrel, but the mechanics inside are distinctive.”
“Who is he?” Wayne asked, leaning down further.
Ranette pointedly put a hand to Wayne’s forehead and pushed him back. “Gunsmith. Disappeared about a year ago. We had a correspondence going. Nobody’s heard from him.” She held up a piece of metal from inside the gun grip. “Anyone here speak High Imperial?”
Waxillium shook his head.
“Makes my head hurt,” Wayne said.
“I can read it, kind of,” Marasi said, taking the square piece of metal. There were several characters scratched into the metal. “Wasing the where of needing,” she read, forming the unfamiliar words. The lofty tongue was used for old documents dating to the time of the Origin, and occasionally for government ceremony. “It’s a call for help.”
“Well, we know how Miles got his guns,” Waxillium said, taking the plate and looking it over.
“Wax,” Ranette said. “Miles always had a darkness in him, I know. But this? Are you sure?”
“Sure as I can be.” He raised Vindication up beside his head. “I saw him face-to-face, Ranette. He spouted some rhetoric about saving the city as he tried to kill me.”
“That’ll be useless against him,” Ranette said, nodding to Vindication. “I’ve been trying to figure out a gun to use against Bloodmakers. It’s only half finished.”
“This will be fine,” Waxillium said, voice even. “I’ll need every edge I can get.” His eyes were hard, like polished steel.
“I’d heard rumors you’d retired,” Ranette said.
“I had.”
“What changed?”
He slid Vindication into his shoulder holster. “I have a duty,” he said softly. “Miles was a lawkeeper. When one of your own goes bad, you put him down personally. You don’t rely on hired help. Wayne, I need shipping manifests. Can you borrow me some from the railway offices?”
The Alloy of Law: A Mistborn Novel Page 22
