The Bands of Mourning (Mistborn #6) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,50

was glad to have found surgeons. Most of them probably worked half their time on cows, but it was better than nothing.

Not a few younger officers stood on the platform. They’d put away their stupid autograph books, fortunately, though they seemed deflated that their captain wouldn’t let them pester Wax.

Where? Wax thought, feeling more and more sick. Marasi arrived a moment later with an oil lamp, her light illuminating the train car for him as he poked through a cargo room full of mail bags.

He won’t be in here, Wax thought. This was forward of the car that had been secretly carrying the payroll shipment. Wayne wouldn’t have been able to cross through that one; they’d have had it blocked off even before the bandits arrived. Still, he wanted to be careful. He searched this one, then waved to Marasi and picked his way through the wreckage of the car that had been robbed.

Matieu tagged along. “I have to say, Lord Waxillium, that we’re very lucky you were aboard. The Nightstreet Gang has been growing bolder and bolder, but I never thought they’d try something like this!”

“So this is an established gang?” Marasi said.

“Oh, sure,” Matieu said. “Everyone in the area knows about the Nightstreets, though mostly they hit cities closer to the Roughs. We figure it’s slim pickings out past the mountains, so they have begun to venture inward. But this! A full-on train robbery? And stealing Erikell payroll? That’s daring. Those folks make weapons, you know.”

“They had at least one Allomancer with them,” Wax said, leading the way through the empty courier car, which still smelled faintly of formaldehyde.

“I hadn’t heard that,” Matieu said. “Even luckier you were along!”

“I didn’t stop them from getting away, or from stealing the payroll.”

“You killed or captured a good half of them, my lord. The ones we’ve got, they’ll give us a lead on the others.” He hesitated. “We’ll have to put together a posse, my lord. They’ll be making for the Roughs. Sure could use your help.”

Wax swept this room, focusing on the blue lines. “And the man with the limp?”

“My lord?”

“He seemed to be in charge of them,” Wax said. “A man in a fine suit who walked with a cane. About six feet tall, with a narrow face and dark hair. Who is he?”

“I don’t know that one, my lord. Donny is the leader.”

“Big guy?” Wax asked. “Neck like a stump?”

“No, my lord. Donny is little and feisty. Evilest rusting kig you’ve ever seen.”

Kig. It was slang for a koloss-blooded person. Wax hadn’t seen anyone among the bandits with the proper skin color for that. “Thank you, Captain,” Wax said.

The man seemed to recognize it as a dismissal, but he hesitated. “And can we count on your help, my lord? When we chase down Donny and his gang?”

“I’ll … let you know.”

Matieu saluted, which was completely inappropriate—Wax wasn’t part of this jurisdiction—and retreated. Wax continued searching, pulling open a luggage compartment beneath the first passenger car. The metal lines leading into it only pointed at a few pieces of baggage.

“Waxillium,” Marasi said, “you can’t help with their hunt. We have a job already.”

“Might be related.”

“Might not be,” she said. “You heard him, Waxillium. These guys are a known criminal element.”

“Who happened to rob the very train we were on.”

“But at the same time seemed utterly shocked by the presence of an Allomancer gunman in the last car. Instead of tossing dynamite at us and riddling the coach with bullets, they sent a couple men to rob what they assumed would be easy pickings.”

Wax chewed on that, then checked another luggage compartment, bracing himself as he did so. No bodies. He let out a breath.

“I can’t think about this right now,” he said.

She nodded in understanding. They checked the other compartments, and he didn’t see any suspicious lines, so they moved on. Crossing the space between cars, he spotted Steris watching him. She sat alone on a bench with a blanket around her shoulders, holding a cup of something that steamed. She seemed perfectly calm.

He continued on. Losing friends was part of a lawman’s life; it had happened to him more times than he wanted to count. But after what had happened back in the city six months ago … well, he wasn’t sure what losing Wayne would do to him. He steeled himself, moved to the next car, and opened the first of its luggage compartments, then froze.

Faint steel lines coming from another place in this train car. They