Turbinio

Aconite

Wekapipo's eyes narrowed.

''If he dies... now. Today. Or this afternoon. Wekapipo, without the president, there's no way to be killed. There would be no one to hide the corpse. There would be no deaths.''

''Be more coherent, woman.''

''I could... I could do that. I could prepare a cup of tea, a potion. I think I could persuade him to drink it.''

Wekapipo was dumbfounded, his military posture of discipline blurring into the realms of absurdity. You could see in his eyes his clear opinion of your plan.

"What if he died with you there, just after drinking your tea? Christ, (Y/N), they would kill you right there.''

You put your hands on your crossed arms, trying to warm them up.

"And... does it matter?'' You asked, desperately trying to stabilize your voice. The truth was that it did. Right now, your own life weighed far more than the hundreds you'd already saved. You clenched your fists, trembling with dread, a mouse in the jaws of the trap.

Wekapipo was at your side at the same moment. Your legs wouldn't obey you; he practically dragged you over to the crate and sat you down again, his hand tightly squeezing your shoulder.

"You've got the courage of a lion, frate.'' He said. "Of a bear, of a wolf. But it's suicidal courage, you can't do that.''

The tremors subsided, although you still felt nauseous at the gravity of what was approaching.

"There must be another way.'' You continued. ''There's a lot of food that goes to the president. It wouldn't be difficult to add something to his plate without being noticed. Everything is completely disorganized.''

That was true. At the dinner, where there should be the most organization, officials and guards dozed on benches around the park, too tired to drop their weapons. Outside Independence Hall was chaos, anyone could get in if they weren't afraid of the president. There was constant coming and going. It would be simple to distract a servant long enough to add your deadly potion to the afternoon meal.

The immediate terror had subsided somewhat, but the horror of your idea lingered, like poison, chilling your blood. Wekapipo's hand squeezed your shoulder again for a moment, then pulled away as he contemplated the situation.

The president's death would not put an end to the question of the corpse; things had gone too far for that. Gyro, Johnny, Diego, Hot Pants and who knows how many other mercenaries the president had paid in advance were still searching for the corpse; but as long as the president is alive, you were all traitors, with lives and property pledged to the state. The Steel Ball Run was in ruins; without the figure of the president to finance the event, it would dissipate like smoke. Now, people like Diego would not hesitate to pursue the remnants of the fame and wealth promised by the run, seeking to recover the honor lost within the run and wash away the insult with blood.

There was nothing else you could do. Nothing ahead of you but catastrophe and devastation, and no way of avoiding them. All that could be saved now was Lucy Steel's life.

Wekapipo stood, staring at something in the street that you couldn't know what it was, as if looking for an answer on the horizon. Murder. Not just murder, but suicidal murder. Not just murder, regicide.

Suddenly, a violent commotion in the street interrupted your thoughts. A muffled pop, like gunpowder, but too low to be a weapon.

However, Wekapipo had been quicker and more efficient than you in understanding the situation.