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Wax peeked around the corner. Dark figures moved in the mist behind them, coming up on their position. If she was right, and this wasn’t Bleeder, then who …

Aluminum bullets. Snipers to watch for his escape.

It was his uncle. Somehow Wax had been played. Oh, Harmony … If Bleeder and the Set were working together …

He tossed a bullet casing to the side, against the wall to his right, and held it in place with a light Allomantic push. He flexed his wounded arm, then raised both guns. “Go.”

Wax didn’t wait to see what MeLaan did. He Pushed against the casing, throwing himself out into the street, churning the mist. Men fired, and Wax increased his weight, then Pushed with a sweeping blast of Allomantic power. Some weapons were thrown backward, and some bullets stopped in the air. Men grunted as his Push sent them away.

Two men’s weapons weren’t affected by the Push. Wax shot them first. They fell, and he didn’t give the other men time to go for the aluminum guns. He decreased his weight greatly and Pushed against the men behind him, hoping that the shove helped MeLaan.

His Push sent him into the middle of the men he was fighting. He landed, kicking one of the aluminum guns away into the mists, then lowered Vindication and drilled a thug in the head, just at the ear. The cracks of his gunfire rang in the night.

Wax kept firing, dropping the men around him as he spun through the mists. Some came at him with dueling canes while others fell back with bows. No Allomancers that he’d spotted. In the night, he could finally prove the worth of the mistcoat. As he dodged between the thugs—kicking the other aluminum gun away—the tassels on his coat spun in the air, seeming to meld with the mists. Men attacked where he had been, the tassels confusing them as they churned the fog.

He twisted between two of the thugs and raised a gun to either side and fired, sending them to the ground. Then he turned and leveled both weapons at the man who had been sneaking up on him.

Both out, I believe. He pulled the triggers anyway. The weapons clicked.

The terrified man stumbled back, then paused. “He’s out! Move! He’s defenseless!” The man charged forward.

Wax dropped the guns.

Why, exactly, would they assume that I need guns to be dangerous?

He reached into his coat and undid the rope at his waist. He pulled it free, draping the rope from his fingers. Ranette’s hook clinked as it hit the ground.

The man in front of him hesitated at the sound, dueling cane held nervously.

“This,” Wax said, “is how it used to be done.”

He yanked the rope, whipping the metal end into the air, then Pushed the spike at the man’s chest, letting the rope move through his fingers to give it more slack. It hit, cracking ribs, and Wax yanked the rope back, holding it on a tight leash and spinning the hook through the air as he turned. He Pushed again, slamming the metal into the man raising a bow.

Wax twisted and knelt, whipping the rope around. It spun before him in a grand arc, stirring the mist as he gave the rope more slack, then Pushed it, slamming the spike-hook past one man and into another’s chest. Wax yanked the spike-hook back, catching the other man on the thigh, tripping him as he came forward with a dueling cane.

Wax caught the hook in one hand and turned, Pushing the hook forward into the shoulder of an ambusher. Wax ripped it free with a yank, then Pushed it directly back into the man’s face.

One more, he thought. Wax whirled, pulling the hook back into his hand, searching.

The last man scrambled for something on the ground. He looked up, raising one of the fallen aluminum guns. “The Set sends its regards, law—”

He cut off as a shadow behind him rammed a knife into his back.

“Here’s a tip, kid,” MeLaan said. “Save the wisecracks until your foe is dead. Like this. See how easy it is?” She kicked the corpse in the face.

Wax looked around at the fallen and groaning men. He held the rope tightly. Those sharpshooters on the roofs might reposition soon and start firing. “We need to move fast. I think Bleeder is going after Lord Harms, my betrothed’s father.”

“Damn,” MeLaan said. “You want to try to climb up and go after those sharpshooters?”

“No time,” Wax whispered. He pointed down the street. “You go that way; I’ll go the other way. If you get out, head back to the Counselor’s Cup, a tavern over on Edden Way. I’ll meet you there after I go for Lord Harms. If I or someone I send talks to you, first say the words ‘all yellow pants.’”

“Sure thing.”

“Good luck.”

“I’m not the one who needs help, lawman,” MeLaan said. “I’m basically bulletproof.” She gave him a kind of mock salute, then took off down the street, charging through the mists.