Steris. One of the previous abductees was her cousin. Of course. She was in the same line.
Waxillium’s eye twitching grew worse.
“Actually,” the boss said. “We’ll take two this time.” He sent his koloss-blooded lackey running back toward the tables of people. “Now, nobody follow, or they’ll get hurt. Remember, a few jewels aren’t worth your life. We’ll cut the hostages loose once we’re sure we aren’t being followed.”
Lies, Waxillium thought. What do you want with them? Why are you—
The koloss-blooded man who had stolen Wayne’s hat stepped up to Wax’s table and grabbed Marasi by the shoulder. “You’ll do,” he said. “You’re coming for a ride with us, pretty.”
She jumped as he touched her, dropping her notepad.
“Here now,” another bandit said. “What’s this?” He picked it up, looking through it. “All it’s got is words, Tarson.”
“Idiot,” the koloss-blooded man—Tarson—said. “You can’t read, can you?” He craned over. “Here, now. That’s a description of me, isn’t it?”
“I…” Marasi said. “I just wanted to remember, for my journal, you see.…”
“I’m sure,” Tarson said, tucking the notebook into a pocket. His hand came out with a pistol, which he lowered at her head.
Marasi grew pale.
Waxillium stood up, steel burning in his stomach. The other bandit’s pistol was trained at his head a second later.
“Your lady will be just fine with us, old boy,” Tarson said with a smile on his grayish lips. “Up you go.” He pulled Marasi to her feet, then pushed her before him toward the northern exit.
Waxillium stared down the barrel of the other bandit’s pistol. With a mental Push, he could send that gun with a snap back into its owner’s face, perhaps break his nose.
The bandit looked like he wanted to pull the trigger. He looked eager, excited by the thrill of the robbery. Waxillium had seen men like that before. They were dangerous.
The bandit hesitated, then glanced at his friends, and finally broke off, jogging toward the exit. Another was shoving Steris toward the door.
“Wax!” Wayne hissed.
How could a man of honor watch something like this? Every instinct of justice Waxillium had demanded he do something. Fight.
“Wax,” Wayne said softly. “Mistakes happen. Lessie wasn’t your fault.”
“I…”
Wayne grabbed his dueling canes. “Well, I’m going to do something.”
“It’s not worth the cost of lives, Wayne,” Waxillium said, shaking out of his stupor. “This isn’t just about me. It’s true, Wayne. We—”
“How dare you!” a familiar voice bellowed. Lord Peterus, the former constable. The aging man removed the napkin from his head, stumbling to his feet. “Cowards! I will be your hostage, if you require one.”
The bandits ignored him, most jogging toward the exits of the room, waving their guns about and enjoying making the dinnergoers cringe.
“Cowards!” Peterus yelled. “You are dogs, each and every one of you. I’ll see you hanged! Take me instead of one of those girls, or it will happen. I swear it by the Survivor himself!” He stumbled after the retreating boss, passing lords, ladies, and the wealthy—most of whom had gotten down and were hiding under their tables.
There goes the only man in this room with any courage, Waxillium thought, suddenly feeling a powerful shame. Him and Wayne.
Steris was almost to the door. Marasi and her captor were catching up to the boss.
I can’t let this happen. I—
“COWARD!”
The masked bandit leader suddenly spun, hand snapping out, a gunshot cracking the air, echoing across the large ballroom. It was over in a heartbeat.