He crossed the distance to the door in a rush, throwing the cartridges in front of himself, ready to Push on the ones that he might need to hit Bleeder. Once inside, however, he let the rounds drop to the ground. Bleeder wasn’t in the room; an open door at the back led out, presumably through a tunnel to the grounds above.
The plush saferoom—round and rimmed with bookshelves—had a wet bar on one end and was lit by comfortable reading lamps. The governor knelt on the floor, holding a bleeding Drim, frantically trying to stanch the blood coming from the bodyguard’s neck.
Wax dashed across the room, stopping at the door into the escape tunnel.
“Lawman!” Innate cried. “Help. Please … oh, Harmony. Help!”
Wax hesitated, peering into that empty, dark tunnel. He was reminded of another one like it, dusty and shored up by beams at the sides. Both a tomb and a stage …
Behind, Wayne stumbled into the room, then scrambled to help Innate. Wax remained by the door into the tunnel, rolling a few rounds between his fingers.
“He saved me,” Innate said, weeping. By this point, he was drenched in Drim’s blood. He’d pulled off his shirt, trying to use it to stanch the blood. “He leaped into the way right as the assassin shot,” Innate said. “Tell me you can … Please…”
“He’s gone, mate,” Wayne said, settling back.
“Other casualties upstairs, Wayne,” Wax said, pointing. With reluctance, he shut the door to the escape tunnel. He couldn’t give chase, not and leave the governor alone here.
Wayne rushed out of the room to check on the men who had been shot upstairs. Wax walked over to the governor, who knelt before his bodyguard’s corpse. He’d never seen Innate look so human as he did at that moment, shoulders slumped, head bowed. Exhausted, wrung-out. Could anyone fake that?
He checked anyway. “Leavening on sand,” Wax said.
Innate looked up at him, eyes unfocused. Wax’s heart skipped a beat, but then the governor sighed. “Bones without soup.”
He knew the passphrase. This was really Innate.
Wax knelt beside the governor, looking over Drim’s corpse. Annoying though the man had been at times, he had not deserved this. “I’m sorry.”
“She stopped moving at a blur,” Innate said, his voice strained. “She appeared inside, gun out, but seemed angry about something. Drim leaped for me right before she shot. She was gone a second later. Surely she could have paused to finish me off, rather than running.”
“She obtained Feruchemical powers only two weeks ago,” Wax said. “That time frame greatly limits how much speed she can have stored up, and moving as fast as she has been must have drained her metalmind quickly. She needed to escape before it ran out.”
Of course, there could be another reason. She might have just wanted to frighten them, and the governor. To prod him to do something. But what? She said she intended to kill him, but not until the time was right.
Why? What was the plan?
“So she’s flawed,” Innate said. “She can be beaten.”
“Of course she can,” Wax said. He looked down at the corpse, and the floor stained red. But at what cost? He took a deep breath. “I want you to leave the city.”
“No.”
“That’s stupidity,” Wax snapped. “She will be back.”
“Have you looked out there, lawman?” Innate said, waving a bloody hand in a vaguely upward direction. “Have you seen what’s happening in this city?”
“You can’t do anything about that tonight.”
“I most certainly can.” Innate stood. “I’m the leader of this city; I’m not going to run away. If anything, I need to be seen—need to meet with the chief instigators of this movement, if any can be found. I need to address the crowds, prepare a speech—I need to gather my cabinet, and with them make sure that there’s still a city here in the morning.” He pointed at Wax. “You stop this creature, Ladrian. I don’t have a bodyguard any longer. I’m in your hands.”
He strode out then. Whatever else he thought of the man, Wax had to respect Innate’s grit.
You stop this creature.…
Wax glanced at the syringe, still lying on the floor near the doorframe. So close. If it had hit, he might have been able to depress the metal plunger and send the liquid into her veins. Feeling powerless, he fetched that syringe and brought it back to Drim’s corpse, dead with a bullet right in the neck. Wax plunged the syringe into the corpse’s arm and emptied it into the flesh.
Nothing happened. He hadn’t expected it to—it seemed very implausible that Bleeder would have managed to get Drim’s face on and fool the governor this way. But it still made Wax feel more comfortable.
He stumbled to his feet. Rusts, he was tired. Why hadn’t she killed the governor? There was more to this.
Wayne peeked in. “Two guards might make it. We have a surgeon helpin’ them now.”
“Good,” Wax said. “Wait for me upstairs.”