Mistborn #04 The Alloy of Law

things. If it comes to a fight, I don’t think I can defeat Miles. He’s crafty, powerful, and determined. I’d rather you were somewhere safe.”
    “Where?” she asked. “Any of your estates would be obvious, as would those of my father. I can’t very well hide in the underground of the city; I highly doubt I’d be inconspicuous there! I hasten to suggest that the safest place for me is near you.”
    “Odd,” Wayne said, “I usually find the safest places in life are everywhere but near Wax. Have I mentioned the likelihood of explosions?”
    “Perhaps we should just go to the constables,” Marasi said. “Lord Waxillium … this kind of private investigation is technically illegal—at least insofar as we have important facts that the constables don’t. We are required to bring what we know to the authorities.”
    “Don’t get him thinking!” Wayne said. “I was just starting to get him to stop saying stuff like that!”
    “It’s all right, Wayne,” Waxillium said softly. “I’ve made a promise. I told Lord Harms I’d return Steris to him. And I will. That is that.”
    “Then I will remain and help,” Marasi said. “That is that.”
    “And I could really use some food,” Wayne added. “Fat is fat.”
    “Wayne…” Waxillium said.
    “I’m serious,” Wayne said. “Ain’t had nothing to eat since those scones.”
    “We’ll get something at our stop,” Waxillium said. “First, I would like to know something from Lady Marasi.”
    “Yes?”
    “Well, assuming you are to remain with us, I’d like to know what kind of Allomancer you are.”
    Wayne sat up with a start. “Huh?”
    Marasi blushed.
    “You carry a pouch of metal shavings in your handbag,” Waxillium said. “And you are always anxious to keep the handbag close. You know little about Feruchemy, but seem to understand Allomancy. You weren’t surprised when Wayne stopped time in a bubble around us—in fact, you stepped right up to the barrier, as if familiar with them. And you come from a hereditary line that is being hunted precisely because it includes a lot of Allomancers.”
    “I…” she said. “Well, there really wasn’t a good opportunity…” She blushed more furiously.
    “I’m surprised, and a little disappointed,” Wayne said.
    “Well,” she said quickly, “I—”
    “Oh, not at you,” Wayne said. “At Wax. I’d have expected that he’d put this sort of thing together on your first meeting.”
    “I’m growing slow in my old age,” Waxillium said dryly.
    “It’s not really very useful,” she said, looking down. “When I saw Wayne using his Slider ability, I started to get self-conscious. You see, I’m a Pulser.”
    As he’d suspected. “I think that could be very useful.”
    “Not really,” she said. “Speeding up time … that is amazing. But what can one do with slowing it down, and only for myself? It’s useless in a fight. Everyone else would move with great speed around me. My father was ashamed of the power. Told me to keep it quiet, much like my parentage.”
    “Your father,” Waxillium said, “is someone that I’m increasingly certain is a fool. You have access to something useful. No, it won’t fit every situation, but no tool does.”
    “If you say so,” she said.
    A merchant came down the train aisle, selling pretzels, and Wayne all but leaped out of his chair to get one. Waxillium settled back, looking out the window, thinking.
    Miles. No, he couldn’t be sure it was him. When Waxillium had shot the Vanisher boss in the face and dropped him, he’d assumed that he’d mistaken the voice. Miles wouldn’t drop to a gunshot.
    Unless he’d known that he had to feign a wound, lest Waxillium recognize him. Miles was crafty enough for something like that.
    It is him, Waxillium thought. He’d known it from the first time the Vanisher boss had spoken. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it.
    This complicated things immensely. And, oddly, Waxillium found himself feeling overwhelmed. Twenty years as a lawkeeper, and this situation was already messier than any he’d investigated. He’d assumed that the Roughs made him strong, but there’d also been a simplicity to life out there, a simplicity he’d gotten used to.
    Now he came charging in, guns raised, assuming he could handle a problem built on Elendel’s scale. He assumed he could take down a team that was so well funded it could field men with guns made of something so expensive it might as well have been