“But surely an Allomancer could get in,” Wayne said.

“How? They could Push on the metal all they wanted; it’s so heavy, it would toss them backward. And even if they somehow did get in, we will have eight guards riding inside the railcar.”

“My,” Wayne said, letting his accent slip. “That’s impressive indeed. What will the guards be armed with?”

“A full quartet of…” the man began, but then trailed off, looking more closely at Wayne. “Of…” His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Oh, I’m missing my tea!” Wayne exclaimed, then turned and began hobbling back through the crowd.

“Stop that woman!” the guard said.

Wayne stopped pretending and stood up straight, shoving his way through the crowd with more fervor. He glanced over his shoulder. The guardsman was forcing his way forward in pursuit. “Stop!” the guardsman yelled. “Stop, damn you!”

Wayne raised his cane and pulled the trigger. His hand started wobbling as it always did when he tried to use a gun, but this one only had blanks in it, so it was all right. The pistol-like crack drove the crowd into a panic, people ducking down in a wave like wind blowing through a field of grain.

Wayne darted through the prostrate figures, hopping over some of them, reaching the back of the crowd. The guard raised his gun; Wayne dashed around a corner of the station building. Then he stopped time.

He threw off his coat, then pulled off the blouse underneath, revealing a gentleman’s suit: black coat, white shirt, red cravat. Wax had called it “purposefully unimaginative,” whatever that meant. He removed the items that, tied to the inside of the blouse, had formed the elderly woman’s bust: a small bag, a collapsible gentleman’s hat, and a wet rag. He unfolded the hat and stuffed the blouse into the extra space inside it before pulling off his wig and putting the hat on his head.

He ripped the outer layer off his cane, turning it black instead. He tossed the wig aside, then dropped the bag by the wall. Finally, he wiped his face clean of makeup with the rag, discarded it, then collapsed his speed bubble.

He stumbled out around the corner of the building, acting as if he’d been shoved. He cursed, straightening his hat and raising his black cane, shaking it in anger.

The guard puffed up beside him. “Are you all right, m’lord?”

“No!” Wayne snapped, filling his voice with every ounce of aristocratic condescension he could manage. Madion Ways accent, the richest area of the First Octant—where House Tekiel owned much of the land. “What kind of ruffian was that, Captain! The launch was supposed to be handled with poise and care!”

The guard froze, and Wayne could see his mind working. He’d been expecting a random nobleman, but this person sounded like a member of House Tekiel—the guard’s employers.

“Sorry, m’lord!” the guard said. “But I chased ’im off.”

“Who was he?” Wayne said, walking over to the wig. “He threw this aside as he passed me.”