Mistborn #04 The Alloy of Law

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