Mistborn #04 The Alloy of Law

criminal ten feet away miss.”
    “Really?”
    She nodded.
    “Well,” Waxillium said, “I guess Wayne doesn’t need to feel so bad.”
    “Hey!”
    Waxillium eyed her. “I once saw him try to shoot someone three paces away. He ended up hitting the wall behind himself.”
    “’S not my fault,” Wayne grumbled. “Bullets are devious buggers. They shouldn’t be allowed to bounce. Metal don’t bounce, and that’s true as titanium.”
    She checked the small revolver to make sure the safety was on, then tucked it into her singed handbag.
    The Vanishers’ hideout turned out to be an innocent-looking building near a canal dock. Two stories tall, it was flat-topped and wide, with numerous chimneys. Piles of dark ashes and slag were heaped along one wall of the building, and the windows looked like they hadn’t been cleaned since the Final Ascension.
    “Lady Marasi,” Waxillium asked, checking the sights on his revolver, “would you be terribly offended if I suggested you wait in the carriage while we reconnoiter? The place is likely abandoned, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find a few traps left behind.”
    “No,” she said, shivering. “I wouldn’t mind. I think that would be just fine.”
    “I’ll wave when we’re certain the place is clear,” he said, then raised his handgun and nodded to Wayne. They ducked out of the carriage, running in a low squat to the side of the building. They didn’t go to the door. Instead, Wayne jumped—and Waxillium must have Pushed him, for the wiry man leaped a good twelve feet and landed on the roof. Waxillium followed, jumping more gracefully, landing without a sound. They moved over to the far corner, where Wayne swung down and kicked in a window. Waxillium swung in after him.
    She waited a few tense minutes. The coachman didn’t say a word about any of it, though she heard him muttering “none of my business” to himself. Waxillium had paid him enough that he’d better stay quiet.
    No gunshots sounded. Eventually, Waxillium opened the door to the building and waved. She hurriedly climbed from the carriage and approached.
    “Well?” she asked.
    “Two tripwires,” Waxillium said, “rigged with explosives. Nothing else dangerous we could find. Other than Wayne’s body odor.”
    “That’s the smell of incredibleness, ” Wayne called from inside.
    “Come on,” Waxillium said, holding the door open for her.
    She stepped in, then hesitated in the doorway. “It’s empty.”
    She’d expected forges and equipment. Instead, the cavernous room was vacant, like a classroom during winter holiday. Light shone in through windows, though it was very dim. The chamber smelled of coal and fire, and there were blackened areas on the floor.
    “Sleeping quarters up there,” Waxillium said, pointing at the other side of the foundry. “The main chamber here is double height for half the building, but the other side has a second story. Looked like they could house some fifty men in there, men who could act like foundry workers during the days to maintain the front.”
    “Aha!” Wayne said from the darkness on the left side of the chamber. She heard a rattling, then light flooded the room as he pushed back the wall. It opened there, rolling to give large-scale access to the canal.
    “How easily did that open?” Waxillium asked, trotting over. Marasi followed.
    “I dunno,” Wayne said, shrugging. “Easy enough.”
    Waxillium inspected the door. It slid on wheels in a small channel cut into the floor. He rubbed his fingers in the trench and brought them out, rubbing grease between them.
    “They’ve been using it,” Marasi said.
    “Exactly,” Waxillium said.
    “So?” Wayne asked.
    “If they were doing illegal things in here,” Marasi said, “they wouldn’t be wanting to open the entire side of the building with any frequency.”
    “Maybe they did it to keep up the act,” Waxillium said, rising.
    Marasi nodded, thoughtful. “Oh! Aluminum.”
    Wayne pulled out his dueling canes, spinning. “What? Where? Who’s shooting?”
    Marasi felt herself blush. “Sorry. I meant, we should check and see if we can find any aluminum droplets on the ground. You know, from forging or casting guns. That will tell us if this place is really the hideout, or if Wayne’s source was trying to lead us to a bad alloy.”
    “He was honest,” Wayne said. “I got a sense for that sort of thing.” He sneezed.
    “You believed that Lessie really was a dancer, the first