The Alloy of Law (Mistborn #4)(74)

“Similar,” Ranette said, “but with the ceramic on the sides. Not quite as effective, at least at long range. Most Lurchers protect themselves by Pulling bullets to hit an armored plate at their chest. Those bullets, they explode when Pulled on, and you get a little shrapnel blast of ceramics. Should work at ten feet or so, though it might not be lethal. I suggest aiming for the head. I’m trying to get the range up.”

“Tineye rounds?”

“Make extra noise when fired,” Ranette said. “And another noise when they hit. Fire a few shots around them, and their enhanced senses will have them cowering on the floor, holding their ears. Pretty good if you want to take one alive, though with a Tineye, you’re going to have trouble finding them in the first place.”

“And Pewterarm rounds,” Waxillium said, studying the final box.

“Not really much special there,” Ranette said. “Large bullets, extra powder, wide hollow tips, soft metal—meant to have a lot of stopping power. A Pewterarm can keep going long after being shot a few times, so you want to knock them down and keep them there long enough for their body to realize it should be dying rather than fighting. Of course, the best way to drop one is just hit him in the head the first time.”

A Pewterarm wouldn’t be like Miles, capable of healing immediately. They had great endurance, and could ignore wounds—but those wounds would still kill them, eventually.

“Huh,” Waxillium said, holding up one of the long bullets. “None of these are a standard caliber. You’d need quite the gun to fire them.”

Ranette didn’t respond.

“This is nice work, Ranette,” Waxillium said. “Even for you. I’m impressed.”

Marasi expected the gruff woman to brush off the compliment, but Ranette smiled—though she obviously tried to hide her satisfaction. She buried her head in her work, and didn’t even bother to glare Wayne away. “So who are the people you said are in danger?”

“Hostages,” Waxillium said. “Women, including Marasi’s cousin. Someone is going to try to use them to breed new Allomancers.”

“And Miles is involved in that?”

“Yes.” Waxillium’s voice was solemn. Worried.

Ranette hesitated, still bent over the disassembled revolver. “Third cubby up,” she finally said. “All the way at the back.”

Waxillium walked over and reached a hand into the depths. He withdrew a sleek, silvery revolver with a grip that blended onyx and ivory in wavy stripes, separated by silver bands. It had a long barrel, the silvery metal so highly polished that it practically glowed in the even electric lights.

“That’s not a Sterrion,” Ranette said. “It’s better.”

“Eight chambers,” Waxillium said, raising an eyebrow as he turned the revolver’s cylinder.

“That’s Invarian steel,” Ranette said. “Stronger, lighter. It let me shave the thickness between chambers, increase the number without making it too big. See the lever on the back, below the hammer?”

He nodded.

“Hold it down and spin the wheel.”

He did so. The wheel locked on a certain chamber.

“It skips that chamber and the one beside it if you fire it normally,” Ranette said. “You can only fire them if you flip the lever.”

“Hazekiller rounds,” Waxillium said.

“Yeah. Load six ordinary shots, two special ones. Fire them when you need them. You burning steel?”

“I am now.”

“Metal lines in the grip.”

“See them.”

“Push the one on the left.”

Something clicked inside the gun. Waxillium whistled softly.

“What?” Wayne asked.

“Allomancer-only safety,” Waxillium said. “You have to be a Coinshot or a Lurcher to turn it off or on.”

“The switch is embedded inside the grip,” Ranette said. “No exterior sign that it’s there. With that, you’ll never have to worry about someone firing your own gun at you.”

“Ranette,” Waxillium said, sounding awed. “That’s genius.”

“I call the gun Vindication,” she said. “After the Ascendant Warrior.” Then she hesitated. “You can borrow it. If you bring me a field-test report.”

Waxillium smiled.

“This is Nouxil’s work, by the way,” Ranette said, waving to her table.

“The aluminum gun?” Waxillium asked.

Ranette nodded. “I thought it might be so from the shape of the barrel, but the mechanics inside are distinctive.”

“Who is he?” Wayne asked, leaning down further.

Ranette pointedly put a hand to Wayne’s forehead and pushed him back. “Gunsmith. Disappeared about a year ago. We had a correspondence going. Nobody’s heard from him.” She held up a piece of metal from inside the gun grip. “Anyone here speak High Imperial?”



Waxillium shook his head.

“Makes my head hurt,” Wayne said.

“I can read it, kind of,” Marasi said, taking the square piece of metal. There were several characters scratched into the metal. “Wasing the where of needing,” she read, forming the unfamiliar words. The lofty tongue was used for old documents dating to the time of the Origin, and occasionally for government ceremony. “It’s a call for help.”