The Alloy of Law - Brandon Sanderson [103]
Off came the hat. He dropped the cane and reversed his jacket, turning it into a brown and yellow military coat, matching that of the guards. He pulled off his fake nose and took a triangular cloth cap out of the bag he’d dropped by the wall.
He put this on his head instead of the gentleman’s hat. Always have the right hat. That was key. He strapped a handgun on over the coat after dropping his pants, revealing the soldier’s uniform beneath. Then he collapsed his bubble and jogged around the corner, making his way up to the tracks. He found the captain organizing his men, yelling orders. There were some angry noblemen arguing with one another nearby.
The cargo wasn’t being unloaded. That was good. Wayne had figured they’d just give up on this run, with all the fuss, but Wax had disagreed. He said that the Tekiels had made such a big deal of the Breaknaught that a hiccup or two wouldn’t stop them.
Fools, Wayne thought, shaking his head. Farnsward didn’t agree with the decision. He’d been in House Tekiel’s private guard for ten years now, though he’d mostly served on the Outer Estates with his lord, who was chronically ill. Farnsward had seen a lot in his time, and he’d learned that there were reasons to take risks. To save a life, to win a battle, to protect the house’s name. But to take a risk just because you’d said you would? Foolishness.
He jogged up to the captain he’d talked to earlier and saluted. “Sir,” he said. “I’m Farnsward Dubs—Lord Evenstrom Tekiel said I should report to you.” An Outer Estates accent with a hint of aristocracy, picked up from so long associating with them.
The man was looking frazzled. “Very well. I guess we can use every man.”
“Sorry, sir,” Wayne said, leaning in. “Lord Evenstrom is excitable, sometimes. I know how it goes; this isn’t the first time he’s sent me to help someone who didn’t need it. Bren and I will stay out of your way.”
“Bren?”
“Oh, he was right behind me,” Wayne said, turning around, looking confused.
Wax ducked out of the station, wearing a uniform similar to Wayne’s. He also had a fake paunch of some size, hiding some specific materials he’d need for the night.
“There he is,” Wayne said. “He’s a dull-minded lout, sir. His father left him the position, but you could hit his steel against flint all night and not get a spark, if you know what I mean.”
“Well, stay here,” the captain said. “Guard this post. Don’t let anyone approach the train car, no matter what they look like.” He left, running over to the batch of noblemen.
“’Ello, Wax,” Wayne said, tipping his hat to the other man. “Ready to get swallowed?”
Waxillium glanced back toward the station building. Civilians were still scattering. The ground was littered with hats and handkerchiefs. “You need to make sure they still send the train, Wayne. No matter what, it must go forward.”
“I thought you said they’ll be too embarrassed not to launch it.”
“For the first part, yes. Not so sure about this next part. Make it happen, Wayne.”
“Sure thing, mate.” Wayne checked his watch. “She’s late—”
A sudden series of cracks split the air. Gunshots. Even though Wayne was expecting them, they still made him jump. The guards around them cried out, shouting, looking for the source of the shots. Waxillium fell, screaming, blood spraying from his shoulder. Wayne caught him as another guard spotted flashes coming from atop the building.
The guards opened fire as Wayne dragged Waxillium out of harm’s way. He looked about, then—acting frantic—shoved Waxillium into the open door of the railcar. Several of the guards looked at him, but nobody said a word. Waxillium’s eyes were staring dead into the air. The other guards had probably lost mates to bandits or house skirmishes, and they knew. In the heat of the fighting, you got the wounded to safety, and it didn’t bloody matter where.
The firing stopped from atop the building, but it