“That’s what they should call me,” Wayne said. “I’m the one who likes a good shot of whiskey in the morning.”

“‘Morning’ to you is well past noon, Wayne,” Waxillium said. “I doubt you’ve ever seen the dawn.”

“That’s right unfair. See it all the time, when I stay up too late….” He grinned underneath his hat. “Wax, when are we going to go see Ranette?”

“We’re not,” Waxillium said. “What makes you think we will?”

“Well, we’re in town. She’s in town too—moved here before you did, and all. Our house exploded. We could go see her, you know. Be all friendly, like.”

“No,” Waxillium said. “I wouldn’t even know where to find her. The City is a big place.”

“She lives over in the Third Octant,” Wayne said absently. “Redbrick house. Two stories.”

Waxillium gave Wayne a flat stare, which Marasi found curious. “Who is this person?”

“Nobody,” Waxillium said. “How are you with a pistol?”

“Not good,” she admitted. “The target club uses rifles.”

“Well, a rifle doesn’t fit in a handbag,” Waxillium said, taking a pistol out of his shoulder holster. It was small, with a slim barrel. The entire weapon was only about as long as her hand.

She took the gun hesitantly.

“The trick to shooting with a pistol is to be steady,” Waxillium said. “Use both hands, find low cover if you can and set your arms on it. Don’t shake, take your time, and be sure to sight. Pistols are much harder to hit with, but that’s partially because people tend to be wilder with them. The very nature of a rifle encourages you to take aim, while people’s first impulse with a pistol seems to be to just point vaguely and pull the trigger.”

“Yes,” she said, hefting the gun. It was deceptively heavy. “Eight of ten of constables firing a handgun at a criminal ten feet away miss.”

“Really?”

She nodded.

“Well,” Waxillium said, “I guess Wayne doesn’t need to feel so bad.”

“Hey!”

Waxillium eyed her. “I once saw him try to shoot someone three paces away. He ended up hitting the wall behind himself.”

“’S not my fault,” Wayne grumbled. “Bullets are devious buggers. They shouldn’t be allowed to bounce. Metal don’t bounce, and that’s true as titanium.”

She checked the small revolver to make sure the safety was on, then tucked it into her singed handbag.

The Vanishers’ hideout turned out to be an innocent-looking building near a canal dock. Two stories tall, it was flat-topped and wide, with numerous chimneys. Piles of dark ashes and slag were heaped along one wall of the building, and the windows looked like they hadn’t been cleaned since the Final Ascension.

“Lady Marasi,” Waxillium asked, checking the sights on his revolver, “would you be terribly offended if I suggested you wait in the carriage while we reconnoiter? The place is likely abandoned, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find a few traps left behind.”

“No,” she said, shivering. “I wouldn’t mind. I think that would be just fine.”