The bubble dropped, and Wax met Getruda with dueling cane against dueling cane — a crack of wood nearly as loud as Vindication, as Wayne took a few shots at Dumad.
Wax smiled at the sound. It was in some ways silly to enjoy hearing his friend fire the gun. But it wasn’t the action that mattered. It was the wound that had finally healed.
Wax parried the next set of dueling cane blows. She was better than he was — but this change-up obviously had her confused. She started at him in a more defensive posture, and he was able to briefly fend her off, then deliver a strike on her thigh. Looking for where her metalminds were embedded deep under the skin, where Allomancers couldn’t interfere with them.
Not either thigh, he thought, hitting again. She, like Wayne, seemed not to mind the hits. Indeed, her eyes flashed with pain at each one, and her smile widened. At the same time, she didn’t have the wild sense of pleasure he’d seen from some who truly enjoyed pain. She was trying to brute-force train herself to think like she believed Wayne did.
In some ways, that was even more disturbing.
She eventually came in more aggressively, and after he took a hit on his side — one that might have bruised a rib — he forced himself to retreat. His arm was still aching from the shrapnel earlier, and rusts … he was beginning to wear out.
So when Wayne came past him, Wax tossed him the cane back and caught Vindication as Wayne threw it. He’d fired all but the hazekiller rounds.
“More dodgin’ and hittin’?” the woman asked Wax with a yawn. “I don’t really mind, as it’s fun watchin’ you squirm. But I would rather not waste all night.”
Wax needed to try something different. So with steelsight, he located a suitable piece of metaclass="underline" a doorstop by a nearby door. He leaped over and grabbed it, then turned back as the woman came at him in a blur.
Time to try something old-fashioned.
* * *
Wayne landed another grapple on the Coinshot. The man had given up burning away Wayne’s metals, and tried something smart. He took to the air — forcing Wayne to hold on tightly as he dangled. The Coinshot fired into the skylight, then they smashed through into the dark misty air. As they did, a shard of glass sliced the fellow along the arm something fierce.
Huh, Wayne thought. Look at that.
The wound didn’t heal. He wasn’t a Bloodmaker. So there was some limit on the number of spikes the Set could stick inna person. Or maybe Trell/Telsin just didn’t want them to be so powerful they could challenge her.
Being in the air let Wayne control the fight far less; he really had to hold on, since if he dropped from up here — well, healing that would take basically all Wayne had. The need to hold on with both hands let the guy snap the handcuffs around one of Wayne’s wrists. Rusts.
Wayne did get a glimpse of the apparatus set up on the rooftop though, among the construction. It included a long, sleek weapon that looked an awful lot like … well, a sausage. And sausages looked like a fellow’s knob.
That had to be the rocket, and it hadn’t been launched yet, which was a very good sign. Wax’s sister stood there among some engineers, wearing jacket and cravat, the mists staying far away from her — like she had an invisible glass bubble. Her waiting with hands clasped behind her back, and staring off into the darkness … that seemed a bad sign.
The Coinshot let them go down lower, then used a Push off some apparatus to jerk them forward, then another Push sent them backward. The jarring motion dislodged Wayne, who dropped with a grunt of annoyance to the rooftop. Not far enough to need much healing, but still.
Damn, damn, damn.
Well, if the fellow was going to fight dirty, Wayne could do the same. Granted, Wayne would fight dirty anyway, but he felt better about it in moments like this. He ran toward the broken skylight, where hopefully he could drop down to help Wax fight Getruda.
* * *
Wax used the metal doorstop like a bludgeon, Pushing it at the woman. She dodged by instinct, as something that large would hurt more than a bullet.
Wax leaped over her as she rolled, then he Pushed the doorstop toward her again, hitting her in the arm and snapping bones.
She growled, agony breaking through her facade. It made her stumble and slow momentarily as she waited to heal — which let Wax reposition and shove the doorstop straight into her foot, shattering bones there too.
It bounced to the side, and he used a Push to soar in that direction, grab it, and shoot it again. By then she’d healed and managed to get out of the way — but this weapon made her keep dodging. Whenever she was distracted, or the bludgeon fell far enough away to be awkward retrieving immediately, he hit her with a bullet Pushed from his fingers. He didn’t pause to reload. He just kept beating her down.
Her quips trailed off. He grabbed a chunk of metal from the broken skylight and used that too. He kept throwing things at her, relentless, a flurry of steel she had to dodge, or be slowed by pain and healing. Soon she seemed more angry than anything else, and she kept trying to find a way to engage him directly.
Wax didn’t let her. He cut the woman on one side. Then the other. Then he delivered a bullet directly into her arm — and caught sight of a glimmer of metal. The wound healed over in a moment, but he knew what he’d seen. Her metalmind.
A second later, Wayne came thumping down from above, breathing heavily and muttering under his breath. Wax reached out and had his fingers in the right place to be inside the bubble when it appeared. Since any part of your body touching the perimeter would work to hold you in it, with that brush of the fingertips he was able to step in and join Wayne.
“Mate,” Wayne said, “fightin’ you is rustin’ hard.”
“Likewise,” Wax said.
“It’s fun though,” Wayne noted. “He’s real annoyed.”
“Well,” Wax said, “I’ll admit I’ve often wanted an excuse to shoot someone short, with an exaggerated accent, wearing a bowler hat.”
Wayne eyed him.
“It’s the oddest thing,” Wax said. “Can’t rightly say what causes it. Instinct, I guess.”
“I wear a coachman’s hat,” Wayne grumbled, shaking his hand — which had a handcuff on it. “It’s different.” He took a deep breath, then pointed toward the sky, where Dumad was hiding in the mists. “I need to draw him back down. Shall we?”
Wax nodded, and as the speed bubble dropped they both made for the woman. This drew the Coinshot’s attention, as he couldn’t afford to let his ally be double-teamed. He landed back on the carpet, then released a barrage of Pushed bullets. As he did, Wax tossed Wayne a chunk of metal, then used a careful Push to separate the two of them. The bullets soared through the space between them.
Wax turned back to the woman, as his Push had put him closest to her. She had healed from the hits she’d received, but she appeared to be slowing, gasping for breath, covered in sweat. He knew that feeling. He ached in a dozen places, and even the adrenaline from the fight was fading before the exhaustion of an entire day spent racing a deadline.
He raised Vindication, hazekiller round chambered.
“Can you at least tell me why?” he said. “Why are you so fixated on imitating him? This goes further than trying to know your enemy.”
She drew in a ragged breath. “You ever been nothin’, Dawnshot?” Before he could reply, she shook her head. “No. You’ve always been somebody. Had two names. Even when you ran, you still had the money … the knowledge … a life spent knowin’ that you were in charge of yourself. Running away was a luxury for someone like you.” She paused, flipping one of her dueling canes and catching it. “Well, we don’t all have that. Some of us, we take the chances we’re given. And becoming someone we’re not? Well, that’s temptin’.”