Shadows of Self (Mistborn #5)(89)

Wayne nodded. “I’ll do what I can, but that’s a tall order, mate.”

“I’ve arranged for some help,” Wax said, leading the way over to the ladies’ crapper. He knocked on the door.

“Still changing!” MeLaan’s voice came from inside.

“How long?” Wax said.

The door cracked, and a woman’s face peeked out that looked completely unlike MeLaan’s. “Not long,” she said in MeLaan’s voice. “This lady’s hair was a real pain.” She shut the door.

“I recognize that face,” Wayne said, folding his arms and leaning against the wall.

“One of the guards,” Wax said. “That got shot a little earlier.”

“Oh right.” Wayne had a sinking feeling. “Wasn’t she one of the ones I tried to save?”

“Died shortly thereafter,” Wax said. “MeLaan will keep the arm in a sling—that was where the shot hit first, before penetrating into the woman’s lung. We’ll keep her on the governor’s guard staff, and hopefully Bleeder will be so busy looking for you and me that she’ll miss MeLaan.”

“I hope you appreciate this,” the kandra’s voice came from inside the crapper. “I hate being short. As a side note, this lady tasted awful. Far too lean and tough.” The door cracked, revealing the face again. “Next time, choose a body that’s been sitting around awhile, would you? Nice and aged is the best flavor for…”

She trailed off, looking from Wayne to Wax, noticing their expressions. “Oh right,” she said. “Mortals. I’d forgotten how squeamish you can be.”

“Please,” Wax said, sounding pained, “show some respect for the dead woman. It’s already difficult to let you use her corpse like this.”

MeLaan rolled her eyes—rusts, it was strange to see her behave just like before, but in an entirely different body. “It’s either me or the worms, kids. Don’t you think she’d be happy to go out all at once, munched down in half an hour, rather than sitting there and melting into the ground over the course of—”

“Too much description, MeLaan,” Wax said, his voice strained.

“Fine, fine. I’m almost ready; just have to get the clothing on. How is the hair?”

“Good,” Wayne said. “I think you forgot an eyebrow though.”

MeLaan felt at her face. “Hell,” she said. “This is what you get by forcing me to work so quickly.” She ducked back into the room.

“Speaking of quickly,” Wax said through the door, “is this about what I can expect with Bleeder? A half hour to change bodies?”

Wayne nodded. That would be useful to know.

“No, unfortunately,” MeLaan’s voice said from inside, muffled. It was still the same voice as she’d had in her other body. Was she going to change that? “Paalm is old-generation, very practiced. I don’t think anybody is as good as TenSoon, mind you, but Paalm will be fast—particularly swapping into a body she’s used before. I’ve known early-generationers who can change bodies in under ten minutes, and that’s going in blind.”

“Isn’t that tough?” Wayne called. “Like … I once hadda eat twenty sausages for a bet. Won five notes, but spent an hour on the ground moaning like a fellow on the pot tryin’ to force a mango through his delicate doughnut, if you catch my meaning.”

Wax groaned softly, but a short time later MeLaan opened the door again, and was this time clothed in a black suit like the other guards. She was also smiling. “You’re cute,” she noted to Wayne. “How’s my eyebrow?”

“Uh, good.” Cute? “But I’m taken.”

“In answer to your question,” MeLaan said, “it is hard, but not for the reason you’re implying. We can force-feed and expel excess, which makes doing the transformation near a drain like in here convenient. The tough part is memorizing the muscle patterns as you digest them. That and getting the hair right. You people are practically drowning in the stuff. Fortunately, for a quick change like this, I can ignore the hair under the clothing.”

“So … wait,” Wayne said, rubbing his chin. “You’re saying we might be able to check if a person is a kandra by…”

“… Seeing if they put leg and arm hair on?” MeLaan asked. “That might actually work, but only if the kandra had to change fast.”

“Arm hair,” Wayne said. “Right. I was thinkin’ of arm hair.”

“That is the most difficult part to get right on short notice,” MeLaan said. “We can’t make hair, so we’ve got to use your own, and place each strand in a pore. Arms and legs have thousands of the things. What a pain. Far worse than a mass on the head or whatnot.”

“MeLaan,” Wax said, digging in his coat pocket and bringing something out. “Do you recognize this?”

“I don’t have a lot to go on, chief, but I’d say it’s an empty glass vial.”

“Take it inside and turn off the lights,” Wax said, tossing her the vial as Wayne stepped forward, trying to get a look. That stuff seemed interesting.

MeLaan withdrew, then shoved open the door a second later. She grabbed Wax by the mistcoat, somehow still imposing despite the fact that she was now shorter than either of them. “Where did you get this?”