Shadows of Self (Mistborn #5)(56)
The governor’s guards piled on top of Wayne and Bleeder. Wax cursed, dashing forward, Vindication up beside his head and mistcoat flapping behind him. He leaped over cowering partygoers—Pushing off tacks in the floor to get some height—and came down near the group of struggling guards.
Wayne, wearing a false beard and swearing like a canal worker with a headache, flailed about as five security guards held him.
“Let him go!” Wax said. “That’s my deputy. Where’s the other one?”
The guards stumbled about, all but one, who lay on the floor. Bleeding from the gut.
Wax snapped his head up, spotting a man in a waiter’s outfit pushing his way toward the room’s outer wall nearby. Wax leveled Vindication and took aim.
You should know, Bleeder said, that I was sad about your lover’s death. I hated that it was necessary.
Wax’s hand froze. Lessie. Dead.
Damn it, I’m past that! Wax squeezed the trigger anyway, but Bleeder ducked, skidding to the ground. The bullet punched a hole in the window above the man’s head.
Bleeder threw a chair at the weakened window, shattering it. Then, as Wax fired again, he leaped through.
Twenty-plus stories in the air.
Wax bellowed, charging toward the window. Wayne joined him, grabbing Wax by the arm. “I’ll hold on tightly, mate. Let’s go.”
“Stay,” Wax said, forcing himself to think through his turmoil of emotions. “Watch the governor. This might be a distraction, like the attempt earlier.”
Wax didn’t give Wayne a chance to complain. He shook out of the man’s grip, then threw himself into the mists.
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Reckless Roughian Apprehends, Kills Marksman
A year has passed since the Fourth Octant Constabulary’s unpopular Decision to deputize the controversial former Roughs lawman Lord Waxillium Ladrian, and the Octant continues to run from a long List of Embarrassments the man has caused.
Foremost are Waxillium “Wax” Ladrian’s reckless Efforts to apprehend the notorious Marksman, who stole from institutions essential to the Commerce of our Grand City and took the life of an Innocent Child.
“Wax’s” latest caper, though successful, also ended in the death of the accused (as well as an unidentified Bystander), robbing the City of the chance to see Justice done with a proper Trial. In the process Ladrian destroyed the motorcar of Lady Dorise Chevalle who was enjoying a leisurely Drive, and shot up the accounting offices of Linville & Lyons, doing over 400 Boxings of damage. Both have retained solicitors.
* * *
DISTURBANCE At Lord Winsting Innate’s cottage—See Back, Column 8.
CADMIUM MISTING slows time to “pulse” through stodgy board meeting—See Back, Column 4.
FAMOUS BAKER decorates exquisite pastries with flakes of atium—See Back, Column 5.
* * *
“Street Racing” Threatens Grand Old Sport
What do you hear the closer one gets to the Hub and the hour gets later? Motorcar engines growling like Roughs beasts and the yell of tires ripping up the roads. It has been half a decade at least since one could hear the nighttime clip-clop of horseshoes on cobble and the chirping of crickets. In the last six months, young ladies and lordlings—some of them the very children of our readers!—have taken to racing each other through some of our best-known streets. The betting and exchange of boxings began not long after, and the youths began paying gangs of street urchins to deliberately lead the constables away from these so-called street races at predetermined times.
Hardest hit is the 3rd Octant with its slurry of parallel roads and long straightaways, and in a little under a month young Lady Carmine Feltry will be opening a motorcars only circuit at the old fairgrounds abutting the Irongate River.
(Continued on Back.)
11
Falling felt natural to a Coinshot. That sudden moment of acceleration, gut lurching but spirit leaping. The rush of wind. The chill of mist on the skin.
He opened his eyes to spinning white upon black, mist dancing about him, inviting, eager. All Allomancers shared a bond with the mists, but the other types never knew the thrill of jumping through them. Of nearly becoming one with them. During moments like this, Wax understood the Ascendant Warrior. Vin—they rarely called her by name. Her title, like those of the other Preservers, was used to show reverence.
The Historica, a section of the Words of Founding, said she had melded with the mists. She had taken them upon herself, becoming their guardian as they became her essence. As the Survivor watched over all who struggled, Vin watched over those in the night. Sometimes he felt he could see her form in their patterns: slight of frame, short hair splayed out as she moved, mistcloak fluttering behind her.
It was a fancy, wasn’t it?
Wax fired Vindication, slamming a bullet into the ground and Pushing on it to stop his descent. He hit the street in front of the building lobby, going down on one knee. Nearby, some hopefuls still waited to be allowed into the party.