The Bands of Mourning (Mistborn #6) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,44
what?”
“Killing the rest of them, hopefully,” she said.
Marasi found herself surprised at Steris’s bloodthirst. Of course, the woman hadn’t been quite the same since her kidnapping eighteen months back. It wasn’t that Steris acted traumatized—but she’d changed.
“They aren’t trying to get to us anymore,” Drewton said. “Did they retreat?”
“Maybe,” Marasi said. Probably not.
“Should we go look?” Drewton asked.
“We?”
“Well, you.” He tugged at his collar. “Gunfights. I had not actually expected gunfights. Aren’t the servants usually left out of such extravagances?”
“Most of the time,” Marasi said.
“Except when the house blew up,” Steris added.
“Except then.”
“And … you know,” Steris said.
“Best not to mention it.”
“Mention what?” Drewton asked.
“Don’t worry about it,” Marasi said, glaring at Steris. Honestly. If the man couldn’t do a little research before taking a job—
“Wait,” Drewton said, frowning. “What exactly happened to Lord Ladrian’s previous valet?”
Motion in the hallway again. Marasi snapped her rifle up, ready to fire. However, the person who moved out into the hallway wasn’t one of the bandits, but an older woman in a fine traveling dress. A bandit walked behind her, gun to her head.
Marasi shot him right in the forehead.
She gaped, shocked at herself, and almost dropped the gun. Fortunately the remaining bandit—seeing that the ploy hadn’t worked—ran out of the car, fleeing toward the front of the train.
Rusts! Marasi felt sweat trickle down her temple. She’d fired so quickly, without even thinking. The poor hostage stood there, blood from the dead man all over her. Marasi knew what that felt like. Yes, she did.
Beside her, Drewton let out a few oaths that would have made Harmony blush. “What were you thinking?” he demanded of her. “You could have hit the woman.”
“Statistics … Statistics say…” Marasi took a deep breath. “Shut up.”
“Huh?”
“Shut up.” She stood, holding the gun in nervous hands, and made her way into the next car.
The woman had found her husband—alive, fortunately—and was crying in his arms. Marasi stood over the bandit corpse, then looked back out at the roof of her car, where another one lay. She hated this part. A year and a half working with Waxillium hadn’t made killing any easier. It was unnerving, and it was such a waste! If you had to shoot a man, society had already failed.
Marasi steeled herself and did a quick check of the rooms of the first-class car, determining that the bandits had well and truly retreated. One of the first-class passengers claimed to have experience with a gun, and she handed him the rifle and set him watching to be certain no bandits returned.
From there she went to the dining car, checking on the passengers, calming them. Gunshots came from farther up the train. Waxillium was doing his job. His effective, brutal job. The next car up—fourth from the end—was a second-class car, with packed rooms. She checked on the people here too.
Between the two cars, she found four people who had been shot. One was dead, another seriously wounded, so Marasi went to see if Steris had, by chance, brought any bandages or medical equipment. The chances were slim, but this was Steris. Who knew what she had planned for?
Marasi passed Drewton, who sat morosely on a seat in one of the first-class cabins, obviously wondering how an expert cravat-tier had ended up in the middle of a virtual war zone. Steris, however, wasn’t in the servants’ compartment. Nor was she in the one she had been sharing with Waxillium.
Increasingly frantic, Marasi searched through the first-class rooms. No Steris. Finally, she thought to ask the man she’d posted on guard.
“Her?” he said. “Yes, miss. She went by here a few minutes ago, moving up the train. Should I have stopped her? She seemed very determined about something.”
Marasi groaned. Steris must have slipped past while she was checking in the rooms of the second-class car. Frustrated, she took her rifle back and chased after her sister.
* * *
Wax’s metal reserves were gone.
Wax knelt, completely stunned. This was impossible. How in Harmony’s name?
He twisted, discovering that the enormous bandit had stepped into this car. Doors rattled around the man, shaking as if someone were trying violently to get out. Wax ducked into the hallway and lifted his gun, but it was flipped from his fingers by a Push. Immediately after, Wax himself was shoved backward by his gunbelts. He slammed into the opposite wall of the car, right next to the closed door leading toward the back of the train.