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“They can make their own bubble, mate,” Wayne said. “Even inside ours. But I suppose they can’t sculpt one like I can. So we should be good, if we’re in close together.”

“Exactly,” Wax said. “If neither of us can rely on speed bubbles orflying high with Steelpushes, maybe our trained skill will overwhelm their borrowed abilities. We can try to throw that Steelpusher out of the bubble, to freeze him. Just don’t let him touch you, or he can Leech your powers.”

A good enough plan, Wayne supposed. He dug in his pocket for the aluminum-lined pouch his accountants had given him and pulled out a few beads of bendalloy. Kept it in little marbles, easy to swallow.

He knocked them back. Wax nodded, and Wayne made as big a speed bubble as he could. They ran through it, broke out the other side, and dashed down the tunnel. It was a big concrete pipe thing, a good ten feet or more across, the bottom containing a foot-or-two-wide section of sludge that had partially dried, on account of the lack of rain recently.

The evil twins got a chance to deliberate in a speed bubble while Wayne and Wax moved. But they couldn’t dotoomuch from inside one. Other than position themselves really well for when the bubble ended. So, the moment Wayne saw motion ahead, he dropped and rolled in the mud. So did Wax.

Bullets went streaking over their heads, where they’dbeen moments before. Wayne dashed the last few yards to close in on them, then tossed up a large speed bubble—fifteen feet across—to catch all four people. Dueling canes out, he went straight for the evil him, feigning a strike, dodging right, then sweeping with a cane from the left to knock her in the noggin. She barely managed to block him, then slid her weapon along his in a classic maneuver to try and smack his fingers.

He shoved her back and went in again, and the next sequence of attacks hit like a drumbeat—wooden stick against wooden stick. He got a hit on her, but she barely flinched as her metalminds healed her. She returned the blow, and he took it without much more than a faint grunt. Though his ribs cracked, they healed right up.

“Oi!” she said in that exaggerated parody of his accent. “That’s cheatin’!”

“You ain’t me,” Wayne growled. “Don’t pretend you are.”

She grinned and slid in the mud in an admittedly skillful move, getting past him and dodging his next swing—all while rapping him on the arm hard enough to break the bone. He grimaced and flipped his hand to the side to reset the bone as his muscles pulled it back into place.

He fended off her next attack with one arm while the other healed, letting her force him to retreat. At that moment, Wax flew between themand slammed into the tunnel wall with a grunt. He tossed a handful of bullets in the air, then ducked—tricking not-Wax into Pushing on them instead of him. Wax then slid back across the ground underneath and unloaded his guns toward the Coinshot.

Wayne and the not-him watched it all with shocked hesitation, then Wayne grabbed his second dueling cane out of the mud. The two scrambled back together and exchanged a few more blows.

“Hate doin’ this sober,” not-him said. “Maybe we should grab a pint, then have at this again in a right proper state of mind.”

“Nah,” Wayne said, “I drink with bastards, liars, and fools. But I draw the line at someone like me.”

“I’m doin’ well, then?” she asked as they locked canes, coming in close together. “I’m you?”

“You’re something far, far worse,” he muttered. “You’re someone whowantsto be me.”

“Ha!” she said, breaking the lock and shoving him to the side, making him slide up against the shimmering edge of the speed bubble. It didn’t move when Wayne did. They anchored in place, so it wouldn’t fall unless he dropped it or was shoved out.

He shook his arms. Damn, she was strong. Looked like natural strength training, which he didn’t have time to do. She came at him with a body check, making him grunt as she pressed up against him.

“Hope old Dumad is doing all right,” she said, nodding at her companion. “I done stole some of his metal vials without telling him.”

“I don’t steal,” Wayne muttered.

“Sorry! I borrowed it.”

“I don’t borrow neither! And your accent is sliding from Roughs street into southern Elendel street gang! Gah! You’re gettin’ itall wrong!”

“I love that you’re more worried about me imitating you poorly than you are about me tryin’ to kill you,” she said, shoving her face up next to his. She stabbed him in the chest—he hadn’t even seen her drop the dueling cane—with a glass knife. “It’s soyou,Wayne!”

“You don’t know me,” Wayne growled, managing to kick her leg and make her slip a little. She loosened her grip, which let him rip free and move around her, though her knife sliced him across the chest.

Rusts. He could heal that with the health in his bracer—which these days he wore embedded into the flesh of his thigh. But he was worried about how much she was making him use. That was probably the point.

“Oh, Wayne,” she said, turning toward him. “Idoknow you. I’ve studied you for years! Freewheeling Wayne! Always ready with a joke. Snatchin’ what he sees, chasin’ the girls. Livin’ his life without consequences. Just here for the fun and the booze!”

“Yeah?” he muttered. “And the pain?”

“Eh,” she said with a shrug. “You get used to gettin’ exploded, now don’tcha.”

“Not that pain,” he whispered.

They met again, but she was just plain better at the fightin’ part than he was. Oh, Wayne was fine with the canes. But he lived his life. And in doin’ so, he’dlet the trainin’ slack off—having a little gum chew out behind the building instead of working into the evening. With Marasi, he hadn’t spent quite so much time getting his head knocked in.