Mistborn #04 The Alloy of Law

the barrel of the other bandit’s pistol. With a mental Push, he could send that gun with a snap back into its owner’s face, perhaps break his nose.
    The bandit looked like he wanted to pull the trigger. He looked eager, excited by the thrill of the robbery. Waxillium had seen men like that before. They were dangerous.
    The bandit hesitated, then glanced at his friends, and finally broke off, jogging toward the exit. Another was shoving Steris toward the door.
    “Wax!” Wayne hissed.
    How could a man of honor watch something like this? Every instinct of justice Waxillium had demanded he do something. Fight.
    “Wax,” Wayne said softly. “Mistakes happen. Lessie wasn’t your fault.”
    “I…”
    Wayne grabbed his dueling canes. “Well, I’m going to do something.”
    “It’s not worth the cost of lives, Wayne,” Waxillium said, shaking out of his stupor. “This isn’t just about me. It’s true, Wayne. We—”
    “How dare you!” a familiar voice bellowed. Lord Peterus, the former constable. The aging man removed the napkin from his head, stumbling to his feet. “Cowards! I will be your hostage, if you require one.”
    The bandits ignored him, most jogging toward the exits of the room, waving their guns about and enjoying making the dinnergoers cringe.
    “Cowards!” Peterus yelled. “You are dogs , each and every one of you. I’ll see you hanged! Take me instead of one of those girls, or it will happen. I swear it by the Survivor himself!” He stumbled after the retreating boss, passing lords, ladies, and the wealthy—most of whom had gotten down and were hiding under their tables.
    There goes the only man in this room with any courage, Waxillium thought, suddenly feeling a powerful shame. Him and Wayne.
    Steris was almost to the door. Marasi and her captor were catching up to the boss.
    I can’t let this happen. I—
    “COWARD!”
    The masked bandit leader suddenly spun, hand snapping out, a gunshot cracking the air, echoing across the large ballroom. It was over in a heartbeat.
    The aged Peterus collapsed in a heap. Smoke curled in the air over the bandit boss’s pistol.
    “Oh…” Wayne said softly. “You just made a bad mistake, mate. A very bad mistake.”
    The boss turned away from the body, holstering his gun. “Fine,” he yelled, walking toward the door. “You can have some fun, boys. Burn it out of your blood quickly and meet me outside. Let’s—”
    Everything froze. People stopped in place. The curling smoke hung motionless. Voices quieted. Whimpering halted. In a circle around Waxillium’s table, the air rippled just faintly.
    Wayne stood up, shouldering his dueling canes, inspecting the room. He was placing each and every one of the bandits, Waxillium knew. Judging distances, preparing himself.
    “As soon as I drop the bubble,” Wayne said, “this place is going to erupt like an ammunition store in a volcano.”
    Waxillium calmly reached into his jacket and slid a hidden pistol from beneath his arm. He set it on the table. His twitch had vanished.
    “Well?” Wayne asked.
    “That’s a terrible metaphor. How would an ammunition store get into a volcano?”
    “I don’t know. Look, are you going to fight or not?”
    “I’ve tried waiting,” Waxillium said. “I gave them a chance to leave. I tried giving this up.”
    “You gave it a good show, Wax.” He grimaced. “Too good a show.”
    Waxillium rested his hand on the pistol. Then he picked it up. “So be it.” With his other hand, he poured out his entire pouch of steel into his wine cup, then downed it.
    Wayne grinned. “You owe me a pint for lying to me, by the way.”
    “Lying?”
    “You said you hadn’t brought a gun.”
    “I didn’t bring a gun,” Waxillium said, reaching to the small of his back and sliding a second pistol out. “You know me better than that, Wayne. I never go anywhere with only one. How much bendalloy do you have?”
    “Not as much as I’d like. The stuff’s damn expensive here in town. I’ve got maybe enough for five minutes’ extra time. My metalminds are pretty much full, though. Spent a good two weeks sick in bed after you left.” That would give Wayne some healing power, should he get shot.
    Waxillium took a deep breath; the coldness inside him melted away and became a flame as he burned steel that pinpointed each and every source of metal in the room.
    If he froze again …
    I won’t, he told himself. I cannot. “I’ll get the girls. You keep the bandits on