The man breathed in and out raggedly, his head right next to hers. She could feel the stubble of his chin and cheek against her skin.
Men who take hostages don’t want to kill, she thought. This isn’t part of the plan. You can talk him down, speak comforting words, seek common ground and build upon it.
She didn’t do any of that. Instead, she whipped her hand out of her handbag, gripping the small, single-shot pistol she kept inside. Before even considering what she was doing, she pressed the barrel against the man’s chin, pulled the trigger …
And blew the bottom of his head up out of the top.
4
Wax lowered his hand, looking at the new corpse beside Marasi. Her shot had taken off a big chunk of the face. Identifying the man would be near impossible.
It would have been anyway. Suit’s minions were notoriously difficult to trace.
Don’t worry about that right now, he thought, taking out a handkerchief. He walked over and held it up to Marasi, who stood with wide eyes, blood and bits of flesh sprayed across her face. She stared straight ahead and did not look down. She’d dropped the pistol.
“That was…” she said, eyes ahead. “That was…” She took a deep breath. “That was unexpected of me, wasn’t it?”
“You did well,” Wax said. “People assume a captive to be in their power. Often the best way to escape is by fighting back.”
“What?” Marasi said, finally taking the handkerchief.
“You discharged a pistol right beside your head,” Wax said. “You are going to have trouble hearing. Rusts … you’ve probably done some permanent damage to your ear. Hopefully it won’t be too bad.”
“What?”
Wax gestured toward her face, and she looked at the handkerchief, as if seeing it for the first time. She blinked, then glanced down. She looked away from the corpse immediately and began wiping at her face.
Wayne, grumbling, staggered out of the alleyway, a new hole in his clothing at the shoulder and a crossbow bolt in his hand.
“So much for interrogating him,” Marasi said with a grimace.
“It’s all right,” Wax said. “Living was more important.”
“… What?”
He smiled at her reassuringly as Wayne waved to some other constables, who had finally arrived on the scene and were making their way into the slums.
“Why does this keep happening to me?” Marasi asked. “Yes, I know I won’t be able to hear your reply. But this is … what, the third time someone has tried to use me as a hostage? Do I exude indefensibility or something?”
Yes, you do, Wax thought, though he didn’t say it. That’s a good thing. It makes them underestimate you. Marasi was a strong person. She thought clearly in times of stress; she did what needed to be done, even if it was unpleasant. However, she was also very keen on dressing nicely and making herself up.
Lessie would have had none of that. The only times Wax had seen her in a dress were when they’d made the occasional trip to Covingtar to visit the Pathian gardens there. He smiled, remembering a time she’d actually worn trousers under the dress.
“Lord Ladrian!” Constable Reddi trotted over, wearing the uniform of a captain in the constabulary. The lean man had a neatly clipped, drooping mustache.
“Reddi,” Wax said, nodding to him. “Is Aradel here?”
“The constable-general is engaged in another investigation, my lord,” Reddi said with a crisp tone. Why did Wax always want to smack this man after talking to him? He was never insulting, always impeccably proper. Maybe that was reason enough.
Wax pointed toward the buildings. “Well, if you’d kindly have your men secure the area; we should probably question those nearby and see if, by some miracle, we can discover the identity of the man Lady Colms just killed.”
Reddi saluted, though it wasn’t technically necessary. Wax had a special deputized forbearance in the constabulary, allowing him to do things like … well, jump through the city armed and firing. But he wasn’t in their command structure.
The other constables moved to do as he requested anyway. As he glanced at the Marksman, Wax forcibly kept his anger in check. At this rate, he would never track down his uncle Edwarn. Wax had only the slightest hint of what the man was trying to accomplish.
It can make anyone into an Allomancer, you see.… If we don’t use it, someone else will.
Words from the book Ironeyes had given him.
“Excellent work, my lord,” Reddi said in a calm voice, nodding to the fallen Marksman. The clothing was distinctive. “Another miscreant dealt with, and with your customary efficiency.”
Wax said nothing. Today’s “excellent work” was just another dead end.
“Hey, look!” Wayne said nearby. “I think I found one of that fellow’s teeth! That’s good luck, ain’t it?”