The Alloy of Law (Mistborn #4)(72)

Ranette was an Allomancer. Of course. That was why she’d been able to recognize the aluminum. As they reached the door, Marasi studied the contraption that had opened it. There was a lever that could be pulled, which in turn moved a rope, pulley, and lever arrangement on the other side.

There’s one on each side, Marasi realized as they stepped through the doorway. She can open her doors from either direction without needing to lift a hand. It seemed an indulgence. But, then, who was Marasi to critique another person’s use of their Allomancy? This would certainly be useful if you often walked about with your hands full.

The living room beyond had been converted to a workshop. There were large worktables on all four sides, and nails had been pounded into the walls to hang an impressive variety of tools. Marasi didn’t recognize any of the machinery that cluttered those tables, but there were a lot of clamps and gears. A disturbing number of electrical cords snaked across the floor.

Marasi stepped very carefully. Electricity couldn’t be dangerous when it was in cords, could it? She’d heard stories of people getting burned, as if struck by lightning, from getting too close to electrical devices. And people spoke of using this power for everything—replacing horses with it, making mills that ground grain on their own, using it to power elevators. Disturbing. Well, she’d keep her distance.

The door slammed shut behind them in response to Ranette’s Allomancy. She had to Pull on a lever for it, so that meant she was a Lurcher, not a Coinshot like Waxillium. Wayne was already poking through things on the desks, completely ignoring her threat to his fingers.

Waxillium surveyed the room, with its wires, windows—covered by shutters—and tools. “I assume it’s living up to your expectations?”

“What?” Ranette asked. “The city? It’s a pit. I don’t feel half as safe here as I did out in the Roughs.”

“Still can’t believe you abandoned us,” Wayne said, sounding hurt.

“You didn’t have electricity,” Ranette said, sitting at her desk in a chair with wheels on the bottom. She waved an absent hand, and a long, thin tool flipped out of a cubby on the wall. It flew toward her and she snatched it, then brought it down and began prodding at the gun Waxillium had given her. From what Marasi understood, gestures weren’t needed for Pushing or Pulling, but many used them anyway.

Ranette completely ignored her visitors as she worked. She Pulled a few more tools without looking up, causing them to streak across the room to her. One nearly clipped Marasi on the shoulder.

It was unusual to see Allomancy used so casually, and Marasi wasn’t certain what to make of it. On one hand, it was fascinating. On the other, it was humbling. What would it be like, to have a power that was useful? Lord Harms had insisted that Marasi keep her ability—such as it was—quiet, calling it unseemly. She could see through him. He wasn’t so much embarrassed to have an Allomancer daughter as to have one that was illegitimate. He couldn’t have Marasi looking like a better catch than Steris.

Bitter thoughts, she told herself, intentionally pushing them away. Bitterness could consume a woman. Best to keep it at arm’s length.

“This gun is good work,” Ranette said, though she sounded grudging. She’d donned some spectacles with a magnifying lens on them, and was in the process of staring down the barrel of the revolver while shining a small electric light into it. “You want me to figure out who made this, I assume?”

Waxillium turned to study a line of half-finished guns on one of the tables. “Actually,” he said, “we came here because we needed someplace safe to think for a few hours.”

“Your mansion isn’t safe?”

“My butler failed to poison me, then tried to shoot me, then set off an explosive in my study.”

“Huh.” She cocked the pistol a few times. “You need to screen these people better, Wax.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” He picked up a pistol and sighted down its barrel. “I’m going to need a new Sterrion.”

“Like hell you will,” Ranette said. “What’s wrong with the ones you have?”

“Gave them to the aforementioned butler,” Waxillium said. “And he probably dumped them in the canals.”

“What of your Ambersairs? I made you one of those, didn’t I?”



“You did. I lost it fighting Miles Dagouter earlier today.”

This made Ranette stop. She lowered the aluminum gun, then turned her chair. “What?”

Waxillium drew his lips into a line. “He’s the one we’re hiding from.”

“Why,” Ranette said pointedly, “is Miles Hundredlives trying to kill you?”

Wayne strolled forward. “He’s trying to overthrow the city or something, dearie. For some reason, he thinks the best way to do that is by robbin’ folks and blowing up mansions.”

“Don’t call me dearie.”

“Sure thing, honey.”

Marasi watched in silence, curious. Wayne seemed to like taunting this woman. In fact, though he tried to act nonchalant, he kept glancing at her, and had been edging through the room closer and closer to her seat.

“Whatever,” Ranette said, turning back to her work. “Don’t really care. But you’re not getting a new Sterrion.”