“Huh?” Wayne said, looking away from where he’d been hanging out the other door to look down. A few distant gunshots sounded as soldiers took potshots at the hovering vehicle. “Oh, this?” Wayne took out the Allomantic grenade.

“Yah,” the man said, snatching it. “Thanks!” He spun and pressed it against Wax’s arm until—as he was still burning steel to keep them afloat—it started buzzing.

The little man turned and snapped the cube into place under the shelf at the front of the ship. The machine shook, and then something started thumping underneath them. A fan? Yes, a very large one, blowing downward, powered by an unseen motor.

“You can let go, Great Being of Metals,” the man said, looking back at Wax. “If it suits your divine desires.”

Wax eased off on his Push. They immediately started to sink.

“Reduce your weight!” the man cried. “I mean, if it is aligned with your magnificent will, O Metabolic One.”

“Metabolic?” Wax asked, filling his metalmind and decreasing his weight. The ship stabilized in the air.

“Uh,” the masked man said, seating himself at the front, “well, we’re supposed to use a different title each time, yah? I’ve never been very good at this, Your Magnificence. Please don’t launch a coin directly into my skull. I’m not insolent, just stupid.” He pushed a lever forward, and smaller fans began whirring at the ends of the pontoons.

“They’re not boats,” MeLaan whispered. “Not this one, not the big one below. They’re flying ships.”

“Harmony’s Bands,” Marasi said. She was very pale, holding to her wounded stomach.

Flying ships that ran on some kind of Allomancy. Rust and Ruin. Wax felt the world seem to lurch around him. If electricity had changed life so dramatically, what would this do? Wax forced himself to shake out of his stupor and looked to the short masked man. “What’s your name?” Wax said.

“Allik Neverfar, Tall One,” the man said.

“Wait here a moment then, Allik.”

“Whatever you desire, O—”

Wax jumped out of the vehicle before he could be praised—or insulted, he couldn’t tell which these were—again. He got a better look at the small airship as he left. Yes, it looked more like a long motorcar cab than it did a boat, with that flat bottom. The large fan was separated from the ship by a short space, allowing air intake above. The doorways on the walls didn’t seem to close; it was fortunate the seats had straps.

Wax dropped through the sky, afraid to Push off the small airship, but was able to use anchors down below to slow and direct himself toward the forests north of the camp.

He wanted to be quick. That ship wasn’t up so high that it would be safe if they had access to cannons. He dropped into the forest and surprised Steris, who sat on her horse with the others in a line, all packed and ready to go.

“Lord Waxillium!” she cried. “I assumed you’d be coming, and prepared—”