Mistborn #04 The Alloy of Law

to say to Lord Harms.
    “Hey,” Wayne whispered. “Here.” He handed Waxillium something under the table. A revolver.
    Waxillium looked at him, confused. It wasn’t his.
    “Figured you’d want one of these.”
    “Aluminum?”
    Wayne smiled, eyes twinkling. “Snatched it out of the collection the constables made. Apparently there were ten of these. Figured you could sell it. I spent a lot of bendalloy fighting these gits. Need some money to replace it. But don’t worry, I left a real nice drawing I did in the gun’s place when I took it. Here.”
    He handed over something else. A handful of bullets. “Grabbed these too.”
    “Wayne,” Waxillium said, fingering the long, narrow cartridges, “you realize these are rifle rounds?”
    “So?”
    “So they won’t fit a revolver.”
    “They won’t? Why not?”
    “Because.”
    “Kind of a dumb way to make bullets, innit?” He seemed baffled. Of course, most things about guns baffled Wayne, who was generally better off throwing a gun at someone than trying to fire it at them.
    Waxillium shook his head in amusement, but didn’t turn the gun down. He had wanted one. He slipped the revolver into one of his shoulder holsters and turned to Lord Harms.
    “My lord,” Waxillium said. “I have failed you.”
    Harms dabbed his face with his handkerchief, looking pale. “Why would they take her? They’ll let her go, won’t they? They said they would.”
    Waxillium fell silent.
    “They won’t,” Lord Harms said, looking up. “They haven’t let any of the others go, have they?”
    “No,” Waxillium said.
    “You have to get her back.” Harms took Waxillium’s hand. “I care nothing for the money or jewelry they took from me. It can be replaced, and most of it was insured anyway. But I’ll pay any price for Steris. Please. She is to be your fiancée! You have to find her!”
    Waxillium looked into the older man’s eyes, and saw fear there. Whatever bravado this man had shown in earlier meetings, it was an act.
    Funny, how quickly someone can stop calling you a miscreant and a rogue when they want your help, Waxillium thought. But if there was something he couldn’t ignore, it was a sincere request for help.
    “I’ll find her,” Waxillium said. “I promise it, Lord Harms.”
    Harms nodded. Then, he slowly pushed himself to his feet.
    “Let me help you to the carriage, my lord,” Marasi said.
    “No,” Harms said, waving her down. “No. Just let me … just let me go and sit by myself. I won’t leave without you, but please give me some time alone.” He walked away, leaving Marasi standing with her hands clasped.
    She sat back down, looking sick. “He wishes it were she you had rescued and not me,” she said softly.
    “So, Wax,” Wayne butted in. “Where did you say that bloke was who had my hat?”
    “I told you that he got away after I shot him.”
    “I was hoping he’d dropped my hat, you know. Getting shot makes people drop stuff.”
    Waxillium sighed. “He still had it on when he left, I’m afraid.”
    Wayne started cursing.
    “Wayne,” Marasi said. “It’s only a hat.”
    “Only a hat?” he asked, aghast.
    “Wayne’s a little attached to that hat,” Waxillium said. “He thinks it’s lucky.”
    “It is lucky. I ain’t never died while wearing that hat.”
    Marasi frowned. “I … I’m not sure I know how to respond.”
    “That’s a common reaction to Wayne,” Waxillium said. “I did want to thank you for your timely intervention, by the way. Do you mind if I ask where you learned to shoot like that?”
    Marasi blushed. “Ladies’ target club at the university. We’re quite well ranked against other clubs in the city.” She grimaced. “I don’t suppose … either of those fellows I shot pulled through?”
    “Nah,” Wayne said. “You plugged them right good, you did. The one near me left brains all over the door!”
    “Oh dear.” Marasi grew pale. “I never expected…”
    “It’s what happens when you shoot someone,” Wayne pointed out. “At least, usually someone has the good sense to get dead when you go to all the trouble to shoot them. Unless you miss anything vital. That bloke what took my hat?”
    “I hit him in the arm,” Waxillium said. “But it should have brought him down better than it did. He has koloss blood for sure. Might be a Pewterarm as well.”
    That quieted Wayne. He was probably thinking the same thing as Waxillium—a band like this, with these numbers and such nice