The Alloy of Law (Mistborn #4)(69)

“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, dictate a broad education.”

“Yeah, I know they have to take girls,” Wayne said.

Marasi paused. “Er … not that meaning of broad, Wayne.”

“Students have to be trained in a little of everything,” Waxillium said, “before they can choose a specialty.”

“That includes basic healing and some small amount of surgery,” Marasi said. “As well as complete anatomy courses.”

Wayne frowned. “Wait. Anatomy. Meaning, all parts of anatomy.”

Marasi blushed. “Yes.”

“So—”

“So it was very popular in class to watch my reactions, apparently,” she said, still blushing. “And I’d rather not dwell on that at the moment, Wayne, thank you. This needs stitches, Waxillium.”

“Can you do it?”

“Er … I’ve never worked on anyone alive before…”

“Eh,” Wayne said, “I spent months training with dueling canes on dummies before beating up my first real person. It’s pretty much the same thing.”

“I’ll be all right, Marasi,” Waxillium said.

“So many scars,” she said quietly, as if not noticing what he’d said. She was staring at his chest and sides, and seemed to be counting the old bullet wounds.

“There are seven,” he said softly in reply, replacing the bandage and tying it tight.

“You’ve been shot seven times?” she asked.

“A lot of gunshots aren’t lethal, if you know how to care for them,” Waxillium said. “They don’t really—”

“Oh,” she said, raising a hand to her lips. “I meant, we only have records of five. I really will need to hear about the other two sometime.”

“Right,” he said, grimacing and standing. He waved for his shirt.

“Oh, bother,” she said. “That didn’t come out very well, did it? I really am impressed that you have been shot so often. Really.”

“Getting hit’s not really that impressive,” Wayne noted. “It don’t take much skill to get shot. It’s avoiding the bullets that’s tough.”

Waxillium snorted, pulling his arm through a sleeve.

Marasi stood. “I’ll turn around so you can dress,” she said, beginning to spin.

“Turn around,” Waxillium said flatly.

“Um, yes.”

“So I can dress.”

“A little silly, I guess.”

“A little,” he said, smiling and pulling his other sleeve on. He began doing the buttons. Wayne looked so amused he was having trouble standing up.

“All right,” she said, raising her hands to the sides of her face. “I realize that I get a little flustered sometimes. I’m just not used to things exploding, people getting shot at, and finding my friends sitting and bleeding with their shirts off when I walk in! This is all very new to me.”