Wax didn’t say anything. This was more a matter of comfort to Wayne than anything practical. Wayne wouldn’t be able to store up much in the time they had. It took a Feruchemist months storing health to get a full metalmind.
The tire tracks stopped at the end of the tunnel, where the giant concrete tube dumped out over the ocean. Wax was used to the relatively sheltered and calm waters of the Elendel docks—where the waves were so placid, you could be on a large lake. Here on the promontory that Bilming occupied, the waters chopped and churned, crashing against the docks. No wonder the Bilming navy was made up of such hulking metalmonstrosities. He could see them in a row in the near distance, six terrible petrol-powered warships, each larger than the one before.
It was strange to think that, even combined, they posed an insignificant threat compared to the bomb Wax was hunting. All that work to create weapons of war, invalidated by a single discovery.
He gestured to a final hatch and ladder, which must lead to the lab. As soon as he and Wayne emerged onto a street by the docks, a door slammed nearby. Wax spun, scanning the warehouses.
“There,” Wayne said, pointing. “Third one down. Someone was watchin’ out the window too.”
The two glanced at each other, then took cover as gunfire exploded from the window. Conventional bullets and guns, his steelsight told him.
No aluminum weapons,Wax thought.They sent those Allomancers to try to deal with us, but didn’t have time to otherwise prepare. We might finally be ahead of them.
He increased his weight with his metalmind, then Pushed the next round of gunfire away—flinging the bullets back through the wooden walls and glass windows. Curses followed, giving him and Wayne a chance to scramble closer. Wayne nodded, so Wax increased his weight and hit the entire building with a Steelpush, anchoring himself from behind.
The wall shook, and a section was ripped free by its nails and a window housing. Wayne leaped in through the hole and dropped a few gunmen inside. Wax followed with Vindication raised, three precise shots bringing down the gunmen Wayne couldn’t reach. As they fought, a truck revved its engine and barreled out on the other side of the warehouse, tires screeching. Wax caught sight of two others ahead of it. A small convoy escaping into the evening.
A quick survey of the large room told him an entire story. Laboratory desks and machinery, stripped bare in a frenzy. Debris on the floor. Torn corners of paper still stapled to the wall where charts or schematics had been hastily ripped down. Dangling chains indicated that something had been constructed here, built in the center of those desks.
They hadn’t expected Wax to dare raid the Silver House or find the tunnel. He was only one step behind now.
Wax launched himself after the truck, decreasing his weight and flying through the large garage doors to track the truck as it screeched around another corner, nearly toppling in its haste.
Wayne would take care of the stragglers. Waxneededto know what was in those trucks.
He roared into the air in a rush, gaining height, and spotted the last of the three trucks heading back into the heart of the city. He’dspent the whole day running to catch up, to tease together plots that had been in motion for years. He was tired of half answers, of feeling like he was a hundred steps behind his sister.
Now he had solutions in sight. Those trucks held real answers, perhaps even the bomb itself. He’dbe damned to an eternal pit of ash before he let them get away.
He Pushed off a manhole cover, gaining more height. From there, streetlamps—which were just starting to come on as the sun neared the horizon—became his anchors, like stepping stones across a lake. He Pushed on a pair at a time for lift and momentum, then began using buildings as enormous anchors. Then a moving car, to gain even more speed, borrowing its momentum.
Air became a whistle, then a roar around him—his mistcoat tassels whipping and snapping. His furious pace let him gain on the three trucks, even as they moved at speed on the highway. He had almost reached the last one in line when a slot opened in the back door and the barrels of several automatic rifles—aluminum—peeked out.
They’dsaved the good weapons for themselves as they fled. A hail of aluminum bullets followed. Wax moved by instinct. His pursuit so far had been too direct, making him an easy target.
He dodged to the side as the bullets cracked in the air. He lurched away from the highway over cars full of startled civilians, then between two buildings to give him cover. There he ground to a stop, boots on asphalt, tassels falling still around him.
This isn’t right,he thought. His path following the trucks had been ob- vious, but their path along the highway was more so. Could they be playing him yet again? He launched himself off a bullet, then gained speed by Pushing against the buildings to the sides, rattling windows—cracking a few as he warped their metal housings.
In Elendel, he had to hold himself back. Moderate his actions to minimize property damage. But Harmony had set Wax on this path, and you didn’t bring Dawnshot out of retirement to play nice. The lives of millions were at stake.
He’dbreak a few windows to stop it. Hell, he’dbreak a few necks. He barreled up over cars, ignoring the cries of startled pedestrians as he moved parallel to the highway—trying to gain enough speed to catch up to the enemy truck, but keeping buildings between him and it. At the right moment he ducked back out, shattering windows, and darted across the highway—finding the third truck exactly where he’dhoped it would be.
It was in a pack of civilian vehicles, so Wax dodged behind cover again and followed, parallel, for another minute. He soared down that side street, feeling… alive. Propelled by steel, a bullet in flight. Perhaps he’dbeen without this for too long, and so had forgotten the rush, but he felt more in control than he ever had before.
Have to stop that truck slowly,he thought.In case the bomb is inside.He assumed the device couldn’t be detonated simply by being jostled—his experiment the other day had shown that the real explosion required specific mechanical intervention. But he had to be careful regardless.
At the next intersection, he glanced right and saw what he’dhoped to see: the truck, in its haste to stay ahead of him, had pulled away from the pack of civilian vehicles into a more open stretch of the highway.
Wax darted in, over the edge of the highway, and increased his weight tenfold. He slowed in the air as a result, and hit the side of the passing truck with a Steelpush,grindingit into the highway’s sidewall. It jostled more than he would have liked, but it did slow.
Wax changed trajectory, staying alongside the truck, forcing it into the sidewall until its tires burst and it stopped. He hit the ground near the broken rear door, sighting three unsteady gunmen within. He took them out, then drilled a bullet right through the front wall of the truck, hitting the driver in the back of the head. But other than those people, the truck was empty.
Itwasa decoy.
Damn it!
He launched back into the air, Pushing off the truck, bending and warping the crumpled roof as he sought height. Such a Push could only take him up so far—the farther you went from your anchor, the less force you could Push upon it.