“She wouldn’t really shoot us?” Marasi asked softly. “Would she?”

“Nine!”

They reached the sidewalk beneath the towering trees. The door slammed closed behind them.

Waxillium took a deep breath, turning around and looking at the house. Wayne leaned back against one of the tree trunks, smiling.

“So, that went well,” Waxillium said.

“Yup,” Wayne replied.

“Well?” Marasi demanded.

“Neither of us got shot,” Waxillium said. “You can’t always be sure, with Ranette. Particularly if Wayne is along.”

“Now, that’s right unfair,” Wayne said. “She’s only shot me three times.”

“You’re forgetting Callingfale.”

“That was in the foot,” Wayne said. “Barely counts.”

Marasi pursed her lips, studying the building. “You two have some curious friends.”

“Curious? Nah, she’s just angry.” Wayne smiled. “It’s how she shows affection.”

“By shooting people?”

“Ignore Wayne,” Waxillium said. “Ranette might be brusque, but she rarely shoots people other than him.”

Marasi nodded. “So… should we go?”

“Wait for a moment,” Waxillium said. To his side, Wayne started whistling, then checked his pocket watch.

The door was flung open again, Ranette holding her shotgun up on her shoulder. “You’re not leaving!” she called.

“I need your help,” Waxillium called back.

“I need you to stick your head in a bucket of water and slowly count to a thousand!”

“Lives are at stake, Ranette,” Waxillium yelled. “Innocent lives.”

Ranette raised her gun, taking aim.

“Don’t worry,” Wayne said to Marasi. “At this distance, birdshot probably won’t be lethal. Make sure your eyes are closed, though.”

“You’re not helping, Wayne,” Waxillium said calmly. He was sure Ranette wouldn’t shoot. Well, reasonably sure. Maybe.

“Oh, you actually want me to help?” Wayne said. “Right. You still have that aluminum gun I gave you?”

“Tucked in the small of my back,” Waxillium said. “Without any bullets.”

“Hey, Ranette!” Wayne called. “I’ve got a neat gun you can have!”

She hesitated.

“Wait,” Waxillium said, “I wanted that—”

“Don’t be a baby,” Wayne said to him. “Ranette, it’s a revolver made entirely of aluminum!”

She lowered her shotgun. “Really?”

“Get it out,” Wayne whispered to Waxillium.

Waxillium sighed, reaching under his coat. He held up the revolver, drawing some looks from passersby on the street. Several of them spun about and hastened in the other direction.

Ranette stepped forward. She was a Lurcher, and could recognize most metals by simply burning iron. “Well then,” she called. “You should have mentioned that you’d brought a bribe. This might be enough to get me to forgive you!” She strolled down her front walk, shotgun slung up over her shoulder.

“You realize,” Waxillium said under his breath, “that this revolver is worth enough to buy an entire houseful of guns? I think I might shoot you, for this.”

“The ways of Wayne are mysterious and incomprehensible,” Wayne said. “What he giveth, he can draw back unto himself. And lo, let it be written and pondered.”

“You’ll ponder my fist, hitting your face.” Waxillium plastered a smile on his lips as Ranette stepped up to them; then he reluctantly handed over the revolver.