Why, exactly, would they assume that I need guns to be dangerous?
He reached into his coat and undid the rope at his waist. He pulled it free, draping the rope from his fingers. Ranette’s hook clinked as it hit the ground.
The man in front of him hesitated at the sound, dueling cane held nervously.
“This,” Wax said, “is how it used to be done.”
He yanked the rope, whipping the metal end into the air, then Pushed the spike at the man’s chest, letting the rope move through his fingers to give it more slack. It hit, cracking ribs, and Wax yanked the rope back, holding it on a tight leash and spinning the hook through the air as he turned. He Pushed again, slamming the metal into the man raising a bow.
Wax twisted and knelt, whipping the rope around. It spun before him in a grand arc, stirring the mist as he gave the rope more slack, then Pushed it, slamming the spike-hook past one man and into another’s chest. Wax yanked the spike-hook back, catching the other man on the thigh, tripping him as he came forward with a dueling cane.
Wax caught the hook in one hand and turned, Pushing the hook forward into the shoulder of an ambusher. Wax ripped it free with a yank, then Pushed it directly back into the man’s face.
One more, he thought. Wax whirled, pulling the hook back into his hand, searching.
The last man scrambled for something on the ground. He looked up, raising one of the fallen aluminum guns. “The Set sends its regards, law—”
He cut off as a shadow behind him rammed a knife into his back.
“Here’s a tip, kid,” MeLaan said. “Save the wisecracks until your foe is dead. Like this. See how easy it is?” She kicked the corpse in the face.
Wax looked around at the fallen and groaning men. He held the rope tightly. Those sharpshooters on the roofs might reposition soon and start firing. “We need to move fast. I think Bleeder is going after Lord Harms, my betrothed’s father.”
“Damn,” MeLaan said. “You want to try to climb up and go after those sharpshooters?”
“No time,” Wax whispered. He pointed down the street. “You go that way; I’ll go the other way. If you get out, head back to the Counselor’s Cup, a tavern over on Edden Way. I’ll meet you there after I go for Lord Harms. If I or someone I send talks to you, first say the words ‘all yellow pants.’”
“Sure thing.”
“Good luck.”
“I’m not the one who needs help, lawman,” MeLaan said. “I’m basically bulletproof.” She gave him a kind of mock salute, then took off down the street, charging through the mists.
Wax recovered Vindication, but didn’t holster her. Instead, he grabbed one of the corpses nearby and lugged it up onto his shoulder, stuffing bullets into its pocket. Then he pulled off his gunbelt. He didn’t know if those sharpshooters might be Metalborn, set to watch for lines of metal in the mists.
Just in case, he heaved the corpse overhead and Pushed, lobbing it upward through the mists. Then he Pushed on his gunbelt, sending it flying ahead of him down the street.
Finally he ran, chasing after the gunbelt and using Allomancy to knock it up and forward again as it started to fall. A gunshot broke the night, but he couldn’t pinpoint its origin. He didn’t know if the sharpshooter was trying to hit the corpse, his gunbelt, or him. Another shot followed.
He burst out of the alley, snatched his gunbelt off the ground, then leaped, soaring over the walkway and coming down in the frigid blackness of the canal. Dark water surrounded him, the guns towing him down as his mistcoat billowed outward.
He kicked downward, seeking the floor of the canal. And then, still submerged, he Pushed on the mooring rings on either side of the canal behind him. Most people, even seasoned gunmen, underestimated the stopping power of a good foot of water. Wax surged through the canal like a fish swimming downstream, continuing to Push on new mooring rings as they passed, staying centered in the canal and remaining submerged. He scraped the bottom of a boat overhead, but kept Pushing, praying he wouldn’t ram himself into anything in the depths.
By the time his breath ran out, he must have traveled a number of blocks. He burst out of the water and, coughing, crawled to the side of the canal and heaved himself out onto the walkway. He stumbled to his feet. Nobody shot him, which was a good sign.
He paused just long enough to catch his breath and roughly bind his arm, then took to the skies, heading for the Harms mansion.
12
“That’s good,” Wayne said, notepad out. “You’re sure that fellow wasn’t acting strange, then? Nothing odd?”