Mistborn #04 The Alloy of Law

was out, but the steward had immediately sent for the local surgeon.
    Waxillium had his coat, vest, and shirt off, and was holding a bandage to his side. He wasn’t certain he had time to wait for that surgeon. It would take Miles about an hour of running to reach this station. Fortunately, he wasn’t a steel Feruchemist, capable of increasing his speed.
    An hour, likely, but it was best to plan for the worst. If Miles found a horse, he could arrive sooner. And Waxillium wasn’t certain exactly how Miles’s Compounding would affect his stamina. Perhaps he might be capable of running longer distances than he should be able to.
    “We almost have your men out, m’lord,” another apprentice said, entering. “Those locks aren’t supposed to be this hard to open!”
    Waxillium drank his water. Miles had planned his trap well. Wayne and Marasi had been confined in their car—along with all the others who happened to be there—by lengths of metal jammed into locking mechanisms on the outer doors. Miles had waited until Waxillium left his room, then had quietly trapped the others before hunting him.
    There was some luck to that, at least. Miles hadn’t simply killed them. It made sense that he hadn’t, however. It would have been risky, going in to try to kill Wayne—who could heal himself—and risk drawing Waxillium back, then facing one on either side. Miles was too careful for that. Waxillium had been the real target. The others were better locked away until the primary goal was accomplished.
    “You need to get your train going again,” Waxillium said to the engineer. He was a heavyset man with a dark brown beard and a flat-topped cap. “You are in danger from the Vanishers. We need to ride the train all the way into the heart of the City. We can’t delay.”
    “But your wound, m’lord!”
    “It will be fine,” Waxillium said. Out in the Roughs, he’d often had to go days or weeks with a wound before a surgeon could tend it.
    “We—”
    The door burst open and Marasi stumbled through. Her blue dress was still singed from the explosion at the mansion, but she wore it well, despite the folds of lace underneath the glistening outer layer. The blue vest that pulled closed around the bodice was missing a button on the bottom, probably ripped free in the fall. He hadn’t noticed that before.
    She raised her hands to her mouth at the sight of the bloody bandage, then immediately turned beet red at seeing him with his shirt off. He did have a moment of pride in the fact that, though he had some gray in his hair, he still had the lean muscles of a much younger man.
    “Oh, Harmony !” she said. “Are you all right? Is that your blood? And should I be in here? I can go. I should probably go, shouldn’t I? Are you sure you’re all right?”
    “He’ll live,” Wayne said, peeking in behind her. “Wha’d you do, Wax? Trip on the way out of the washroom?”
    “Miles found me,” Waxillium said, removing the bandage. It looked like the wound had mostly stopped bleeding. He took another bandage from one of the apprentices, then prepared to tie it in place.
    “Is he dead?” Marasi asked.
    “I killed him a few more times,” Waxillium said, “and it was about as effective as what everyone else has tried.”
    “You need to get his metalminds off of ’im,” Wayne said. “It’s the only way.”
    “He keeps thirty different ones,” Waxillium said, “all piercing his skin, all with enough healing to bring him back from practically any wound.” A Pewterarm, or even a lesser Bloodmaker like Wayne, could be killed with a direct shot to the head. Miles could heal so quickly even that wouldn’t kill him. He was said to keep the healing running constantly. From what Waxillium knew of Compounding, it could be very dangerous to stop once you’d started.
    “Sounds like a challenge!” Wayne said.
    Marasi lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, then apparently made a decision and rushed forward. “Let me see the wound,” she said, kneeling beside Waxillium’s bench.
    He frowned, but stopped tying the bandage straps and let her peel back the cloth. She inspected the wound.
    “You know something of surgery, m’lady?” the engineer said, shifting from foot to foot. He seemed a little anxious at her presence in the room.
    “I go to university,” she said.
    Ah, that’s right, Waxillium thought.
    “So?” Wayne asked.
    Marasi prodded at the wound. “University rules, set by Harmony himself,